Remembering Grey
by Weiila
Summary: Sequel to Shades of Grey. It's a harsh environment in Azeroth, and not everyone is prepared to accept the friendship between a troll raptor hunter and a human paladin. In the depths of contested territory, protests are delivered with cold steel.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This story takes place some months after what happened in _Shades of Grey. _For later chapters it may be a good idea to have read my other WoW-OC-_fic Wail, Baby, Wail, _but it's not necessary. _

Remembering Grey

The humidity made his leather armor feel like it was glued to his skin. It probably didn't smell very nice either, but Rohdjinn had passed the stage where he took note of that several days ago. He might consider jumping into the ocean when he returned to Grom'gol together with his companions, but that would be more for the refreshing feel of it than to actually clean himself. Really, when out this long in the jungle, it didn't matter much. Not that trolls were that specific about washing everyday, though the waves back home in Sen'jin did invite for swims.

Though if he thought about it, getting rid of the mud would probably be a good idea. It smothered his hair down still, full of twigs and leaves – which was the idea – but most of it had flaked off his skin by now. He grinned at the thought.

The young troll slipped into the thick foliage surrounding a tree, where he could rest for a moment and have a drink of water in peace.

Not that he considered himself the romantic kind, but there was definitely something special about being in these lands, where trolls had once reigned supreme.

Of course, that feeling would only last for as long as you avoided ending up on those trolls' dinner plate, but anyway.

He had never been this far out before, not until his teacher decided that a few more Stranglethorn raptors would add to the breeding program in Sen'jin. Apparently this was also a great opportunity to give two of his students a small tour of the world, and off Rohdjinn was to the other continent. He certainly didn't complain. Not only was it a grand trip for him, but the other student coming along was this _quite_ pretty young woman named Dosha.

Oh, and he had never before realized how much he liked his bright red hair.

"_That won't do out here, mon. Into da mud, both of ya!"_

Dosha's greenish hair, which would not stand out against the green landscape, technically did not demand for camouflage. But what's to hinder a couple of freshly adult-age trolls from mud wrestling, especially when they're kindly ordered to?

Rohdjinn grinned to himself, having to muffle a burst of laughter as he recalled the blood elf who had happened to come walking by the river. Remembering the look on her face forced him to bite his knuckles to keep from laughing – and he could only imagine what her expression had been like when their teacher noticed her and leaped into the mud to join his students. At that point Rohdjinn got himself face first in the muck however, and when he – howling with laughter – got up again, the lithe lady had opted for leaving in a huff.

And now he was out here on his own for the first time. Just a short scouting trip to make sure the area was safe, and with strict orders to stay out of trouble. The freedom felt nice, but even better when spiced with that kind of responsibility. Rohdjinn was no fool – the area was dangerous and he knew to respect that. However, so far he had not seen anything more threatening than a sunbathing snake. Disregarding the fact that it had been thicker than his leg and probably poisonous... nothing to make a fuzz about. He would go back to their small camp soon, but no reason to waste a chance for a short break.

The shadows felt nice, and there was a slight breeze whispering through the green world. Birds chirped and squawked among the rustling leaves, and the air smelt of flowers and the thick sweetness of half rotten fruit. But the latter was distant, and not too much of a bother.

Rohdjinn smiled to himself, lazily spying on a couple of parrots flapping between two trees.

The pleasant peace of the jungle broke when somebody cried out.

Rohdjinn barely had time to straighten up before another shout followed the first, and the not too distant shout grew into the familiar choir of noises from a battle starting. Frowning, the troll fastened the water sack at his belt and crawled through the undergrowth on all fours. The fight was going on nearby, but he felt quite sure that none of those who cried out were his companions. Humanoids' voices for sure, but not ones he knew.

He spied movement ahead and crept closer still, peeking out between the huge leaves of a bush. The ground tipped downwards just a little bit, giving him a vantage point.

Three human men were fighting five jungle trolls – Skullsplitters judging by their face paint and the general area.

Not a good fight to be on the wrong side in.

Rohdjinn only watched with some interest as the humans got their asses handed to them. The thought to aid them never crossed his mind – he did not like Skullsplitters, but neither did he like humans, and each one of the trolls down there was bigger than him.

What were humans doing in this area, anyway? Technically this part of Stranglethorn belonged to the Skullsplitter tribe – even if he had not seen any of them this far north before. But in terms of world factions, it was more Horde territory than Alliance, thanks to Grom'gol being so close by. Had the three men wandered so far off the road because they feared Horde patrols? Or to fulfill some suicide mission given to them in Booty Bay?

Or were they just stupid?

Whichever the case, they were all dead men.

Rohdjinn had not seen many humans before, a fact he did not complain about. In this situation it only meant that he could not quite tell what kind of warriors they were. Their armor was light, suited for the jungle, but there were considerable amounts of metal protecting them. All three used shields, two swords and one a mace – which in compare to an orc's warhammer looked like a toy.

Squinting, the troll thought that he could see the outline of some symbol on the mace-wielder's chestplate, but then the man received a blow from behind and fell face first into the ground. He tried to get up, but a Skullsplitter kicked him over and while he was still trying to recover from that, a huge blue foot came down on his chest, knocking all air out of him.

The other two were doing no better. One lost focus while trying to slice at his attackers, only to find his shield grabbed and violently twisted. He went down, rolling and letting go of the shield desperately. A Skullsplitter raised its dagger high, but somehow the human stumbled aside and the weapon only hit one of the bags by his belt. Cloth ripped, the troll snarled and tore the weapon right back up while the contents of the bag spilled into the lush vegetation. This time, the human was not so lucky. The Skullsplitter grabbed the man's sword arm and, with a vicious grin, stabbed the dagger into the area beneath the hanging shoulder panzer.

The man's face twisted, he screamed and the sword fell out of his grip. Still grinning, the Skullsplitter twisted the dagger out of the arm and threw the man to the ground. The man's helmet rolled into the tall grass and disappeared.

"Ow," Rohdjinn muttered to himself.

He caught sight of a golden glow around the man's left hand, but unfortunately for the human, the other trolls noticed it too. The had-to-be-a-paladin-then got roughly pulled up on his feet, and the pain itself killed off his attempt to heal himself. The troll holding his arms still gave him a few good rattles to be on the safe side, until he slumped, groaning.

The last human standing held out for about three more seconds before sheer numbers and much bigger muscles beat him down. His arm was caught and sword twisted out of his hand, moments before he lost his shield as well. He still twisted and cursed, until a dagger at his throat silenced him.

That first unlucky bugger was finally allowed to move, but only so much that he too found himself standing with both arms wrung up behind his back. The Skullsplitters chuckled cruelly amongst one another while the humans exchanged wild glances.

Not a bad battle. Most of the trolls had avoided getting hurt at all because it had been so quick, and those who were wounded only had scratches that would heal quick enough.

Rohdjinn almost felt a little sorry for the humans. Poor, pathetic threesome.

One of the Skullsplitters not holding a prisoner took a rope from his simple belt and moved towards the wounded human. However, he stopped and looked down.

A huge blue hand swooped into the low undergrowth covering the ground, grabbing at something. Thinking back, Rohdjinn figured that it had to be the items fallen from the paladin's bag.

Straightening, the Skullsplitter shook his hand and picked among his finds, scattering little things all around. Then suddenly he snarled, but it sounded just as surprised as angry. The others bent or moved closer to see, all raising fleshy eyebrows and a couple of them grunting out curses.

The investigating troll lowered his hand, letting the human have a look. Instantly the little man bared his teeth, twisting in his captor's grip and grinding out what had to be quite colorful swear words judging by his tone.

Chortling wickedly, the troll dropped whatever it was and stomped on it. The human roared, but the cry was cut off suddenly when one of the other trolls knocked him unconscious with a simple club to the head.

If not for the Skullsplitter holding him, the human would have fallen to the ground. The other two men simply had their hands tied in front of them, but the trolls seemed too amused with the first human to let him get away so easily. Rohdjinn watched with only a little disbelief as the Skullsplitters tied the man's wrists and ankles to a spear. Two of them then lifted the weapon, carrying him as if he was a captured beast. The man did not stir during any of it.

All of the Skullsplitters seemed to find it hilarious, even more so since the man's friends looked on with such disgusted horror. The cruelty made sense, really – those trolls really could only have one reason to capture the humans alive.

Fresh meat.

Prods with clubs and crude daggers forced the humans along as the trolls began moving. Rohdjinn watched, patiently waiting for them to get out of sight.

They headed off through the jungle, almost in the same direction he had planned to go later. Having scouted the area Rohdjinn could take a guess at where they were going, and if he was right, then they would not get anywhere near the camp. Still, it was too dangerous to take a chance about that. Once he felt certain that the hunting party were gone, he slipped out of his hiding place and down the hill. Just following them for a little bit would let him know if he needed to run ahead and warn his friends.

When he crossed the battlefield however, a lump of bright colors caught his eye. Despite feeling that he needed to make sure where the enemies were going, he wasted a curious glance. As it would turn out, this led to a much longer pause than he had planned.

Among the leaves and flowers of the ground laid the paladin's scattered belongings. A few dull scales of some lizard, a couple of torn pages from a book… other little useless things Rohdjinn did not take note of. His gaze was drawn to what without a doubt was the thing that had drawn such interest from the Skullsplitters.

It was a small totem. The feathers were ruffled and broken, the twig holding the mask snapped, and the mask itself broken in two. Rohdjinn would not even have taken note of it if he had not at first glance seen that it was not a Skullsplitter totem, but a Darkspear one. The design was too familiar to him to avoid notice.

Frowning, he bent down and scooped up the broken remains.

On the backside of the mask letters had been carefully scratched into the wood, almost as clearly as the day the totem had been made. The owner must have treated it with care, unlike the Skullsplitter who had stomped on it.

The light was not well suited for reading, not with the leaves sending thick, dancing shadows over the entire world beneath the treetops. Even as he squinted and made out the writing word by word, Rohdjinn's initial thought was that he must be mistaken.

But the writing was definitely there.

_Do not kill this human, for he has helped a Darkspear. – Raptor charmer Vo'don_

The young troll reread the short text, squinting even more.

It refused to change.

Muttering a curse Rohdjinn dashed into the jungle, slowing down only when he suspected being close enough to the Skullsplitters and their prisoners. Then he moved with more care, but still nimbly through the vegetation with all senses alert.

He spotted them while they moved across another area with lower foliage, while he could still hide among the huge leaves of the bushes. From there, even as they waded through the undergrowth and disappeared into the bushes, he could still tell that they turned to follow the path he had suspected they would take.

It was enough to make him certain that they would not get dangerously close to the camp, and therefore he took off towards it himself. He moved as quickly as he dared, always on guard in case there were other enemy trolls about. If there had only been the patrol to make a report about, he had not needed to hurry so much, apart from worry that there could be more enemies on the move. However, the totem in his hand put a whole new spin on everything.

Trying to move swiftly and at the same time avoiding leaving too many tracks for enemies to trace had its complications, but he did his best. Luckily, the camp was not too far off, and he slowed. Haste or no, there were more things than friendly trolls in their camp.

Breathing deeply, Rohdjinn walked out through the bushes and into the small clearing in which he had slept for the last two nights. Two trolls and two raptors glanced up at him, but only in acknowledgment.

Calling it a camp might be too generous, actually. For safety's sake they had not even made a fireplace, and the trolls' beds were nothing more than blankets spread over heaps of leaves. Simple, all for their purpose – easy to destroy and leave behind quickly. The trolls made do with fruit, bread and dried meat for food, and their main objective only cared for fresh meat. The main objective being big lizards.

When out catching new raptors, one should never bring a mount, and definitely not an already tamed raptor. The great lizards were intelligent, and another large animal in the vicinity – especially a prospective rival of unknown origin – could be fatal for the first, vulnerable days of building up a sense of trust.

Vo'don had said that he would not even bring a tamed raptor along even if it came from the part of the world he was going to. He had great respect for the beasts, for good reasons – experience with raptors mainly meant the experience of regrowing limbs again and again.

The totem felt heavier than it should be in Rohdjinn's grip. Of course he knew the story about the Un'goro crater, everyone who knew Vo'don and then some had heard it because it was just that crazy. But deep down, the young troll felt that maybe he hadn't actually believed it before.

Perhaps it had not been the best course of action not to help the humans, but how would he have known?

"See anything good, mon?" Vo'don said without looking at Rohdjinn. Instead, he kept brushing his hand over the raptor's neck, hissing softly. The big lizard's tail lazily swung back and forth, thin front arms scratching the air in delight when Vo'don found some itchy spot the beast never had been able to scratch on her own.

A little ways away Dosha busied herself with their second raptor, this one found a few days ago. Vo'don had not let his two students close to it before he had established a connection to it over the course of several hours. This despite the fact that neither Dosha nor Rohdjinn were inexperienced with the great lizards, nor battle. But Vo'don had spent years raising and gathering raptors, and his decisions were not questioned by the other two trolls.

Dosha's hissing did not sound as fluid as Vo'don's, but it seemed to be enough for the raptor whose back she was rubbing. At least, it had not tried to bite off her ears from what Rohdjinn could see, and that did count for something.

Regardless, this was probably more important than the raptors getting a massage right now.

"I think you wanna look at this," Rohdjinn said, cradling his find in both hands.

He moved carefully not to give the raptor the wrong idea, but the darn thing still gave him a suspicious look and moved as if to take a look – or bite – of the young troll. Probably thinking that there might be something edible being offered. Vo'don brushed her head aside, murmuring at her. Only when the lizard had understood that it was not snack time, Vo'don bent closer to Rohdjinn to have a look.

The mildly curious expression swept away from the older troll's face, and he snatched the broken item so quickly that the raptor gave him a questioning look. Dosha, too, looked up with some surprise. Vo'don ignored all of them, his fingers tinkering with what he held. Eyes thinning, he turned the broken pieces over and read the inscription on the backside.

"Where'd you find this?" he demanded, sharply looking up.

Rohdjinn really had no idea what to expect as he quickly told his story, watching his teacher's eyes thin for every other sentence. Soon Dosha was listening as well, though she tried to return her attention to her raptor every now and then.

Finally, gazing in the direction that Rohdjinn pointed, Vo'don let out a low, growling sigh.

"See, Roh," he said, looking up briefly. "I think I gotta teach you an important lesson, and you better do it right da first time."

"What?" the young troll said, curiously watching his teacher.

Vo'don narrowed his eyes at the jungle, absentmindedly stroking the raptor's side.

"Living bait," he said, left hand clenching around the remains of the totem.

* * *

Oh, this had _not_ been in his apprentice description, to paraphrase those little demons some warlocks kept. Rohdjinn felt that the plan seemed really half-baked, and that this view not only depended on his place in said plan.

Rohdjinn shifted uneasily, trying to find a better seat on the branch. The tree offered all the protection and good view he would need until the action started, but he kept wondering if it would support his weight for long enough.

"On your signal," Vo'don had said. This technically meant that Rohdjinn was in charge of getting things moving. In a way, it was an honor.

Risking his life for the Horde and an ally, sure thing, just point at the enemy. But risk life and limb for a human, one who had been helpful a while back probably only because he had to?

At least Vo'don was honest – he'd plainly said that this would blow their whole operation in the area. They would have to kill every Skullsplitter, and hopefully everyone else would come out alive, but a disappearing hunting party would not go unnoticed in the enemy tribe. They would be combing the area for suspects, and the Darkspears would have to find another place to hunt for raptors. Plus, the troops in Grom'gol would need a warning about angry jungle trolls, which meant even more lost time.

And the whole thing would _definitely_ not make the three Darkspears popular in the base camp, unless they lied their tusks off about why the jungle trolls were angry.

Well, nobody had ever said that hunting raptors was easy work...

Rohdjinn's mental grumbling ended when he saw a movement down the thin path. That had to be the right ones, had to be, had to, or Vo'don would be very, very pissed off for sure. The Darkspears and their raptors had hurried to set up a trap, rushing to where the hunting party had to go... hopefully where they had to go.

And may a spirit or two be kind enough to have kept the Skullsplitters from meeting friends along the way...

With considerable relief Rohdjinn saw that it was just the same trolls and prisoners walking into sight. Five Skullsplitters were still a stretch for Lady Luck, but possible if the plan worked out.

Rohdjinn waited, keeping his breath calm as the troop came closer. The man carried on the spear still seemed to be unconscious, and his friends walked with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

Just a few steps more...

He had chosen this tree, and this branch carefully. While he worried about his perch giving out under him, he _knew_ that another nearby branch would not hold his weight. Just beside his big, healthy tree stood a partly withering one, and he could grab onto one of the thick, dying-

The branch crashed down and so did he, letting out a half-strangled shout. He hoped it sounded real. Hitting the ground felt real enough, even though he was prepared for it. Quickly he scrambled to his feet, hearing a couple of the Skullsplitters snarl as they took note of both him and how small he was for a jungle troll. Throwing a panicked – only half-pretend, that – glance towards the party, Rohdjinn spun around and dashed into the jungle.

He did have at least ten yards head start, and had to make it count. Count as far enough to get away for a little while, but close enough to be worth chasing...

A little bit of shouting – mainly insulting him from what he heard – and then two pairs of feet thundered through the undergrowth behind him. The spirits seemed to actually be favoring him today. Or rather, they favored the half-baked plan. So far.

As long as they didn't overtake him before he got close enough for Dosha to help him, it might work out... and then the rest of the problems were all Vo'don's.

There was a _twang _from above. One of the hunting Skullsplitters gurgled, the other shouted when he crashed into his flailing companion and they both went down. Rohdjinn spun around so quickly he almost stumbled on the slithering roots on the ground. He managed not to fall, however, and tore his axe from his belt. Another arrow whistled down, burying into the second Skullsplitter's arm. He screamed, but more in rage than pain.

From the path came another scream, followed by shouting and the snarling hisses of two raptors attacking.

"Help Vo'don!" Rohdjinn growled, leaping at the Skullsplitters on the ground.

He didn't hear Dosha drop down from the tree she was hiding in, but then the enemy demanded all his attention. One was choking on his own blood with an arrow in his throat, but the other one was very angry and getting to his feet. Rohdjinn aimed his axe in an arch at the snarling face, but missed due to receiving the Skullsplitter's sweeping arm straight across the chest. Instead of hitting his mark, Rohdjinn crashed into a tree and tumbled down among the shorter plants. Somehow he managed not to drop the axe and scrambled aside, aching and disoriented.

_Twang._

The Skullsplitter roared as another arrow grazed his ear, and now he had an idea about where the archer was hiding. Sweeping around, he tore a stone from the ground and hurled it at the treetops. It disappeared among the leaves with a hard rustle – and a half-strangled shout from Dosha. But she didn't fall out of the tree, so it couldn't have hit. However, she had given away her position and the Skullsplitter grabbed another stone.

Rohdjinn threw himself forwards and cut his axe deep into the much bigger troll's thigh. He had to leave it there, rolling away to avoid the fists coming at him even as the Skullsplitter fell over.

Driven mad with pain and rage, the huge troll was too caught up with trying to get at Rohdjinn to notice Dosha jumping from the tree. Well, he noticed her when she grabbed his hair from behind and slit his throat. Blood sprayed over the green leaves, some drops splattering onto Rohdjinn's face and chest. Dosha's hands were doused, and she shook them instinctively.

Kicking the body over, she took a step back and breathed heavily, grimacing, while Rohdjinn ripped his axe free. It could have gone smoother if it weren't for the death throes. He too gasped for air, dry mud on his forehead melting from his sweat and the blood.

A shriek from the path, they exchanged glances and took off.

All three humans were on the ground - the paladin carelessly thrown aside, his companions face first down and either dead or pretending to be. Things didn't seem to have gone very well, apart from one unmoving Skullsplitter on the ground - but one of the raptors were also down, writhing and bleeding from a deep wound in its left leg.

The other raptor and Vo'don were trying to survive against a Skullsplitter each. Now the raptor danced around trying not to be stabbed by its adversary's spear, at least able to move about.

Vo'don was not so lucky. He dangled by his throat in a snarling Skullsplitter's grip, his feet desperately kicking far above the path.

It took half a heartbeat to take in the scene, and then Rohdjinn stormed through the undergrowth. He vaguely heard Dosha let out a battle cry behind him, but all sounds drowned in the rush of his blood and the red veil falling over his vision. The ax drew an arch, he let go and it spun through the air, burying into the Skullsplitters back.

The enemy troll roared, arching backwards and dropping Vo'don.

Landing gracelessly and clutching his throat, Vo'don still had enough sense left to kick at the Skullsplitter's legs. It fell, thrashing.

Afterwards, Rohdjinn couldn't really remember what happened next. His next recollection was of Vo'don, still coughing, tugging at his arm and himself sluggishly turning away from whatever he had been doing.

He looked at Vo'don, blinking as the world turned green instead of red again. With a grunt his teacher hunched down, rubbing his own neck. Fresh blood shone in splashes and droplets on his skin and armor.

Rohdjinn turned around, saw the gory mess on the ground. He looked down, seeing blood covering the axe he held in both hands – blunt end downwards – and splattered far up his arms. His leather armor was now either ruined or decorated depending on how you looked at it.

The last shreds of his berserk daze evaporating, the adrenaline rushed out of his system and he hunched down beside Vo'don, gulping down air.

A hissing snarl made both of them look up. Dosha kneeled by the fallen raptor, the last Skullsplitter sprawled on the ground behind her. She made an attempt to grasp the big lizard's back to help her get to her feet, but the other raptor came barreling towards them, teeth gleaming.

Rohdjinn stumbled to his feet but Dosha already recoiled, scrambling backwards. The standing raptor hissed at her but stopped by its fallen friend. Giving the trolls another suspicious look, it bent down and nudged at the raptor on the ground with its nose.

Vo'don sighed, but it turned to a cough and he bowed his head, massaging his throat.

The fallen raptor whined, but bent her neck upwards. The standing one nudged its head below, helping its friend up on her feet. Stumbling through the agonizing process, the raptors nevertheless finally managed.

The wounded female turned her head and hissed at Vo'don. Then they both turned and walked away, disappearing into the bushes. Leaves waved and twigs broke, then they were gone.

Rohdjinn looked at Vo'don, wondering if they were really letting the raptors go. But the teacher shook his head without looking up.

"Dey don't trust us no more," Vo'don said.

Something brushed Rohdjinn's arm and he spun at it, jumping as he found Dosha standing there. He had not heard her walk up, but then, a buzz still remained in his hazy head after the blinding rage.

"You alright, mon?" she asked unusually soft.

Only then Rohdjinn realized that he was still holding his blood-coated axe in one hand.

"Yah," he muttered, fumbling to fasten the weapon by his belt again. His slippery fingers didn't help matters.

Thankfully Dosha didn't stay to watch him struggle with a simple strap and button, but moved on to Vo'don.

"Dey're all dead," she said.

"Good..."

Vo'don let his hands fall away from his throat, grabbing the dagger stuck in the ground before straightening up. He threw one last blank look after the raptors, but then turned towards the rest of the world. So did his students.

The humans were alive, from the look of it. At least the two that had not been tied up like a wild boar or deer. They had gotten to their feet, and stared at the trolls with wild eyes while nervously recoiling.

Vo'don didn't seem to care. He only gave them a glance before marching over to the spear. There he crouched down, using his dagger to sever the ropes holding the human tied up. The man didn't move, but when Vo'don shook him there was a weak groan. Shoulders sinking, the troll sheathed his knife.

The other two humans stared, no longer backing away but surely considering it. Rohdjinn hunched down again, trying to catch his breath but watching his teacher with great interest despite his exhaust. Dosha's fingertips brushed his shoulder, but she didn't say anything.

"Domas?"

Vo'don dragged the human up in a half embrace, leaning the slumping shoulders against his arm. Then, the troll awkwardly slapped a tanned cheek, lighter than he would if trying to awaken an unconscious child of his own race.

The human groaned again, and his eyelids fluttered. Slowly he opened his eyes, squinting at the blood-streaked troll face hovering above him.

"Uh-"

He made a weak motion as to recoil, but tensely froze when a thick, blue fingertip touched his chest.

"Domas," Vo'don said again, and his grim expression cracked up in a grin. "Domas Sodstone."

The man stared, blinked again and then came to life.

"Wha-?" He moved to straighten up on his own, but cried out and sunk back, clutching his right arm. The sleeve was bright red down to his lower arm, the color creeping up his shoulder thanks to the rather embarrassing position he had been in mere minutes ago.

Vo'don pulled at the cloth, opening the cut in it and glaring at the wound beneath. Pursing his mouth, he looked up at Dosha and Rohdjinn.

"We need to get out of here," he said. Without waiting for even a nod he turned back to the human he was holding up. This time, he did not speak Zandali. "Stand."

'Domas' muttered something.

The other two humans jumped, however, even more so when Vo'don looked at them and spoke again.

"Move."

Hard to say if they were more uncomfortable with being addressed by a troll, or by the fact that it spoke Common. If not very well, in Rohdjinn's belief. Not that he had mastered the language either, but he was pretty sure that the pronunciation was a bit off.

Vo'don stood up, still supporting the human he called Domas. The man staggered and tried to stand on his own, but had to lean against the troll. He still stared at the blue face.

"Vo'don?" he suddenly said, voice breaking.

The troll paused and met the gawk with a much calmer gaze, though his lips twitched. Thin – in compare to a troll's – and bloodied fingers fumbled away from the wounded arm, snapping unsteadily through the air until they grasped Vo'don's thumb.

This time, the troll actually chuckled a little bit. Under Domas' continued stare he moved his left arm up and about as well as the grip of his finger allowed.

"Be good. See?"

He gently pulled himself free and patted Domas' good shoulder. It smeared some blood – human and troll alike – on the plate there, but it probably didn't matter one bit at this point.

"Spirits be with you," Domas croaked.

In Orcish.

Heavily accented, staggering, and using a parting phrase as greeting – but still a troll expression in Orcish. Rohdjinn blinked several times, and he heard Dosha mutter a mild curse out of surprise. Even Vo'don looked in disbelief at the strange human, but Domas didn't see it. His eyes rolled upwards even as the last word left his lips, and he would have fallen to the ground again if Vo'don had not caught him.

The surprise held them for another second, but then Vo'don shook himself out of it. He shifted his grip, hooking his arms under Domas' knees and shoulders. To carry the man he had to straighten up more than looked comfortable, but he hardly made a face at it. Instead he looked at the other two humans and spoke their language again.

"Move. Help."

They looked at him uncertainly, but after exchanging glances they stepped forwards. The one on the left raised his bound hands slightly, and Vo'don nodded before turning to his students.

"They don't trust us," he said. "Maybe it's better that you free them, Dosha."

Female trolls were by default no less blood thirsty than male, but at least they did not have tusks (even if Rohdjinn still could not yet pride himself to sport very big ones himself) and looked a little less muscular.

Shrugging, Dosha walked up to the two men, holding up one hand in a calming motion as she reached for her dagger. Just to be on the safe side Rohdjinn followed her, but only stayed close enough to be able to help in case the humans got any stupid ideas. He didn't want to anger his teacher, if Vo'don didn't want to rattle the two men even more.

From the corner of his eye he noticed that Vo'don looked at him. The teacher watched the scene with a half amused, half serious expression, but didn't make a comment. More concerned with Dosha, Rohdjinn returned his attention to her.

She cut the first human's ropes with ease, but it took a couple of seconds and the men exchanging glances again before the second prisoner held out his hands towards her. Even as the confused couple rubbed their sore wrists, Vo'don called all of them into motion by starting into the relative safety of the jungle. His two students immediately moved to follow.

They paused only for a moment when the two men hastily grabbed a sullied rucksack and a small collection of smaller bags from the dead trolls – just collecting what of their stolen inventory they could get their hands on quickly. They too realized that the danger was far from over, and hurried – though still not looking too happy – to follow the friendly trolls into the foliage.

Dosha gave Rohdjinn a playful shove as they walked, and grinned when he looked at her.

"We make a good fighting team, bait," she said.

He returned her wide smile.

"Leave me some next time," he said.

"Mm, maybe."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two, Remembering Friends

Vo'don would have wanted to walk a lot quicker than he did, but Thomas weighed him down and the other two humans were not in the best condition either. He could not stride forwards too fast. No telling when the group of dead hunters would be noticed. It might take until nightfall, but they might very well be discovered by their tribesmen at any time since they had been on a path.

He should have taken the time to try to hide the bodies together with Dosha and Rohdjinn. He should have taken the time to make sure Roh was alright, seeing as the youngster had just gone berserk for the first time. But staying back there had simply been too dangerous. Best just get away as quick as possible. Still, Vo'don made sure to look around and check on Rohdjinn every now and then to make sure he didn't seem dizzy. Lucky that it had only been a brief charge. Going berserk had its uses, but one had to think about how draining it was to body and mind to lose all sense and attack madly.

When Vo'don glanced over his shoulder again, Rohdjinn raised a hand to his forehead. The move and the grin said that he understood what was on his teacher's mind, and that he felt fine.

The grin may also have something to do with the fact that Dosha stayed close to Rohdjinn at all times.

Thomas groaned, stirring in Vo'don's grip. The troll slowed not to stumble on something, and looked down at the fluttering eyelids. They slipped upwards just a little bit. Thomas frowned, squinted, tried to raise his arm and learned once again that it hurt to much to do that. This time, he only groaned again at the pain.

The sound reminded Vo'don that humans healed much slower than trolls. It gave him some pause, and he kept walking while trying to decide whether or not to stop and have a look at Thomas' arm.

At least Thomas held wisely still, and he did not speak either. But ears as sharp as Vo'don's could not miss out on the strained breath.

Maybe he didn't know enough about humans to take a risk, when it got down to it. They seemed impossible to get rid of sometimes, but you never knew. Besides, after going through so much trouble to save Thomas, it would be really annoying if he dropped dead now.

Looking around, Vo'don caught his students' eyes.

"It ain't da smartest, but I think we better stop for a minute," the teacher said.

They didn't question him, only nodded. Good kids, although it's not always a good thing to blindly follow orders. But they should all be hurrying onwards again soon enough, hopefully.

Vo'don headed for a tree surrounded by plants with huge leaves, and set Thomas down so that he leaned against the trunk. When Vo'don looked up at the other two humans, they stared at him uncertainly.

"Help, quick?" Vo'don said in Common, waving at Thomas.

They exchanged glances, then the one with dark hair started digging through one of the blood-stained bags he had slung over his shoulder. The other man sat down on the other side of Thomas and fumbled with the messy sleeve. Though he grit his teeth, Thomas didn't utter a word of complaint.

Once he had managed to tear away the entire sleeve to lay the wound bare, the blond one raised his hands and closed his eyes. As he muttered in a low voice, a healing glow covered his fingers.

Thomas' head rolled backwards with a relieved sigh. Just as quickly however, he straightened up and looked at Vo'don.

"Why here?" Thomas said, stumbling over the Orcish words.

His hoarse voice had some troubles with the growling language, but the effort remained impressive. Vo'don had never even heard about a human who tried to learn – as far as he knew they all expected everyone else to speak the Alliance's language instead. He gave Thomas a grin.

"Yeah, dat's some strange luck, mon," Vo'don said. He waved a finger at the world around them. "Maybe because we're in a jungle again."

He could tell from the frown that Thomas had some trouble understanding, but after a moment the man nodded with a tired smile.

"Us, grateful," he said. "All, three of you. Thanks."

The healer stared at both of them, and his magic flickered. In the background, the other human fumbled through the bags more or less blindly. Thomas noticed it too, and his head lolled towards his companions.

They spoke quickly, apart from Thomas whose voice broke into mutters and croaks. He told them about the Un'goro crater, or explained it again quickly, as far as Vo'don could tell.

It seemed to pacify the humans somewhat, but they still looked quite skeptical.

"Edward and Martin," Thomas said, turning back to Vo'don and pointing at the blond man and the one with the bags in turn. He didn't see their looks when they got introduced to a trio of trolls.

Vo'don chose to ignore those looks, although when he turned to point at and tell his students' names, he caught sight of Rohdjinn's glare. Dosha seemed to take it more in stride, but the teacher couldn't blame the young man for being annoyed. On the other hand, he could not really blame the humans for being suspicious either, but they did owe the trolls some gratitude.

"Arm. Your arm. I never see happen before," Thomas said, clearing his throat and smiling widely when Vo'don turned back to him.

It broke the troll's train of thought and he had to grin. The grim situation stumbled on Thomas' near childlike joy at the regrown arm.

No need to mention what an unpleasant, annoying experience it was to have a limb grow back. With the itching, the aching bones and the absolute weakness of the developing muscles, the process made it almost impossible to get anything useful done.

But none of that was important.

"Where did ya learn Orcish, mon?" Vo'don said. When a small frown creased Thomas' forehead as he struggled to understand, the troll repeated himself slower and clearer.

"I ask, they think…" Thomas trailed off and raised his good hand to do a circling motion by his head.

Vo'don chortled. He could see it perfectly, the kind of looks Thomas might get when asking somewhat friendly members of the Horde for language lessons.

"I say weird?" Thomas said, trying a weak, sheepish smile.

"Nah." Vo'don shook his head, trying his own brand of Common in return. "Not all good. But fine."

Thomas frowned, thought it over and finally gave up trying to come up with the right words in Orcish.

"I hear you've been practicing too," he said, in his own tongue.

"Understood back dere. Little. You know."

"Yeah, I remember."

Smiling, Vo'don shifted slightly.

"I got dis," he said.

He brushed his fingertips over the string tied around his upper left arm. Among the feathers and beast teeth for strength and spirit blessings, dangled a single silver ring. Thomas smiled, but it faded quickly and he winced.

"I lost your totem."

"Know, Rohdjinn found. So we find you." Vo'don patted Thomas' good shoulder. "Make new."

Martin finally found what he was looking for and interrupted the reminiscence by shoving a roll of bandage at Edward. He, in turn, let the magic fade and grabbed the roll. A hissing discussion followed, Edward waving at the wound. Thomas looked taken aback.

They spoke quickly in their agitated state, trying to avoid looking at the trolls. But Vo'don understood enough Common to put the meaning together. He shook his head.

"No poison," he said.

Both of Thomas' friends peered suspiciously at him.

"How do you know that?" Edward asked.

"Dey wuz going ta eat ya."

Edward and Martin both jumped as if bitten, and Thomas winced. But they must have known deep down, by the way all three of them settled back down in uncomfortable silence. Lips pressed together so tightly they turned white, Edward began wrapping up the half closed wound.

Apparently, he was one of _those_ paladins. Thomas grit his teeth when the bandage tightened, reaching towards it instinctively. But his spell flared up and died in the same instant. Edward stopped him with a grumble about not using magic after fainting twice. Sound advice.

Once the bandage was sufficiently stuck, Edward turned to cast a couple of healing spells on himself and Martin. They seemed fairly well off, but he probably wanted to be sure. However, he looked around sharply when Thomas started to get up, supported by Vo'don.

If Edward had meant to say something, he thought better of it after one look at the troll and turned back.

Thomas leaned against the tree, but he seemed well enough to walk on his own now.

"Where Collins?" Vo'don asked, unwilling to step off the memory lane.

Either way, they had to wait a little for Edward and Martin before they could continue getting further away from the possibility of avenging Skullsplitters. Thomas' smile said that he agreed on liking the memories.

"Last I heard he was in Ironforge," he said. "He's doing fine. What of Shana?"

"Ah." Vo'don shook his head and shrugged. Since Un'goro, he had not heard a word from her apart from a late, short letter telling him that she had gotten safely home and hoped that he had done so as well. She never returned his just as brief reply. But he could wager a guess. "Outland, probably."

Thomas nodded, although a flash of worry passed in his eyes. Many people never came back through the Portal. Although they had not been good friends, Vo'don too felt a little uneasy – the four of them had gone through something unusual and precious in Un'goro, after all. Though until he heard different, Vo'don chose to assume she was still alive.

"Can you walk?" Edward asked Thomas, turning around.

The other paladin nodded.

"I'm fine, thanks for the healing," he said.

"Let's go, den. Quick," Vo'don said.

He started off without waiting for a reply, but made sure to keep a pace the humans could follow without trouble.

It did not take long before it turned out that Thomas was not, actually, fine. Although the walk started off alright, after a while he began stumbling on almost everything, grasping low branches for balance and breathing heavily. When it got too bad they all stopped again to let him have a drink from his water flask, and in a moment of compassion Dosha scurried up a tree and returned with a bunch of Stranglethorn grapes. She even smiled a little bit when Thomas thanked her for the plum-like fruit in Orcish. The six of them shared the grapes, though Edward and Martin hesitated only for a moment and Thomas got the biggest share of it. After he assured that he felt much better after eating and drinking, they pressed on again.

Thomas did do much better now, although he still stumbled occasionally.

The sun was still high on the sky. It should not be a problem reaching the main road long before nightfall, unless something happened along the way.

Vo'don held back a grunt as the thought slipped by. At least he had not spoken it aloud – bad luck right there.

Trying not to allow himself any similar musings he scanned the surroundings as he walked, keeping an eye out for the slightest suspicious movement. He could tell that both his students followed his example, and that was reassuring.

That feeling only lasted until the next time Vo'don drew breath, and he made a low, disgusted sound as a faint stench assaulted his senses.

Something was dead not too far away, and had been dead for quite some time by the smell of it. Grunting, Vo'don pressed a hand to his nose.

But that was odd… the jungle was full of things that would feel the smell and eat anything that held still for long enough, long before it got a chance to rot.

Unless…

His eyes narrowed.

"Wait," Vo'don growled in Common, holding out his arm. He heard some thumps and mutters as some of his companions stumbled at the quick stop.

"What is it?" Thomas asked in a low voice, grabbing hold of a low hanging branch for balance.

But he clamped his mouth shut when Vo'don hushed.

Dosha and Rohdjinn sniffed the air too now, having caught on to the faint stench. Teeth bared, Vo'don turned briefly at the humans.

"Moving dead," he hissed, not knowing the exact word for undead in Common.

Edward automatically reached for his sword that was no longer there, and Martin stepped closer to the hunching Thomas.

"How many?" Martin asked.

"No know," Vo'don replied with a shake of his head.

"It's from over dere, I think," Rohdjinn said, waving ahead to their left.

That would be in the direction Vo'don had wanted to go, and he knew to trust the youngster's sense of smell – besides, it was a conclusion he had been nearing himself. His eyes narrowed to slits. Was somebody blocking the way to the main road? Many voodoo masters with undead servants plagued the jungle, after all. On the other hand he might just be paranoid. News of the dead Skullsplitters, and troops to catch the culprits, should not have been able to travel so fast. If there were undead in the area, it was probably only a case of very bad luck.

It could of course just maybe be one or more Forsaken, but Vo'don did not feel that that would be much better than voodoo slaves. He didn't like them, and he didn't want to have to argue about leaving the three humans alive. If the source of the stench were zombies, then at least one would be able to fight them. Fighting Forsaken would be more complicated.

In either case, it was not good.

"Alright," Vo'don said, "go take a look, Roh."

The young troll nodded and disappeared into the bushes. Vo'don turned and waved at the others. All five of them moved back the way they had come for a few steps, crouching down in the thick vegetation.

Seconds snailed by, but nobody spoke. Vo'don exchanged glances with Dosha, and she made a move towards her weapons to which he nodded. As for the humans, Thomas was in no condition to fight but his friends might be able to be of some use if it came to that. While Vo'don did not like the idea of sharing one of his weapons with the two of them, he kept his extra dagger in mind. Sometimes one had to make odd decisions to survive, he knew that very well.

And after all, last time he chose to trust a human it had worked out well.

He breathed deeply through his nose and frowned. Was it just his imagination or did the stench grow stronger?

Somewhere behind him, Martin snorted in disgust. That finalized that yes, whatever caused the smell was getting closer. Had to be, if the humans could sense it now.

And it got worse. Vo'don reached down and put his hand on his dagger, preparing to reach for his second one to hand it over to either Martin or Edward.

"'ey, guys," Rohdjinn's voice called out, not too loudly. "It's okay."

He stepped into view ahead, looking around for them. Twigs broke behind him, and a huge, green shape moved through the bushes. It was an orc, not old but closer to his middle age than his twenties. Where his leather armor did not hide it, one could see that he had several scars and probably even more that were not visible. He held a shield in hand, but had not reached for the massive war hammer at his side.

What struck Vo'don the most, however, was that he knew this orc. He blinked, standing up and leaving the hiding place behind.

"Oi, Dor'ash!"

"How many familiar faces can you run into in the jungle?" the orc said, grinning from ear to ear which revealed more teeth than even Vo'don himself had.

The troll grinned right back, surprised and relived at the same time. Dor'ash leaned the shield against his leg, and his and Vo'don's hands met in greeting.

Then a thin figure, the source of the stench, stepped out behind Dor'ash's massive back. Vo'don's nostrils flared, but he kept his peace about it even at the sight of a female Forsaken, with an amused smile on her lips and a mage's staff strapped to her back. Her eyes and nose were hidden behind a pair of bolted leather straps crossed over her face. Vo'don had never trusted the undead, and was surprised to see Dor'ash in the company of one. But the orc was a shaman, he had to know what he was doing.

"What are ya doin' here, mon?" Vo'don asked, turning his eyes back to Dor'ash.

"A friend of mine in Grom'gol asked me to collect some blood snake skins for him," the orc said, then pointed with his thumb at Rohdjinn. "And he said he was here with his teacher, but I didn't know it was you."

"Didn't know you knew Roh."

"We met back in Ratchet a few months ago," Rohdjinn offered.

At those words, the Forsaken dipped her mouth down into her bony hand with a hoarse cackle of laughter. Vo'don glanced suspiciously at her, but Rohdjinn and Dor'ash both grinned.

"Let's just say your student helped me, Sarah here and a couple of others with some annoying matters," Dor'ash said. "I'll tell you all about it when we're not in enemy territory." His amusement died. "Glad we ran into you, otherwise we may have stepped into that hornet's nest you've stirred up ahead."

Vo'don had to rub his neck with some embarrassment.

"Yah. Sorry 'bout that, but if dere's one decent human in da world, he shouldn't be eaten by Skullsplitters."

"Which one of them would that be?" Dor'ash said, looking past Vo'don with interest.

Vo'don looked around and found Dosha and the humans standing there, all of them – but the men more than Dosha – watching Sarah with understandable suspicion.

"Oh my," Sarah said in Common, holding her fingers against her lips in mock-worry. "Am I making the dinner nervous?"

"'ey, no!" Vo'don sharply said in the same language, but the air had already stiffened noticeably.

Dor'ash rolled his eyes and then glared at Sarah.

"Don't go giving them the wrong idea," he said. He too spoke Common, catching on to Vo'don's feelings.

She just snorted at him, which was impressive since she apparently did not have any nose left. Shaking his head, Dor'ash looked up at the humans and addressed them directly for the first time.

"I am Dor'ash Coldbane, shaman of the Frostwolf clan. I advice you to ignore my pet zombie Sarah."

He waved at Sarah, taking no heed of her shrieking "I'm not a zombie!"

"I won't allow her to do you any harm," he went on, and nodded at Vo'don, "since you are companions of my friend here."

A moment of hesitation passed. Then Thomas carefully allowed his shoulders to sink, although his friends still seemed to be on guard.

"You're being pretty silly, you know," Sarah said, folding her arms across the remains of her chest. "Only a few years ago, I was just like you. And there's only one of me, a poor little girl against you, three grown men."

The trio of humans exchanged glances. To little surprise Thomas started to say something, probably with the knowledge that he was the resident diplomatic link. But he trailed off, glancing uneasily between Vo'don and Dor'ash.

Trolls and orcs he had learnt to carefully trust, but Forsaken were apparently a little too much still. Wisely so.

"What's the problem? The smell?" Sarah asked, smiling sweetly while pointing with both hands at her face and the fleshless parts of her arms, "the eyes? The skin? The bones?"

She and Dor'ash were just about the only ones who didn't at least wrinkle their nose in disgust. The undead were unpleasant enough to look at without their nasty features being underlined.

Dor'ash grabbed Sarah around the waist, turned, and set her down behind him.

"You," he said at the end of the motions, turning back, "are going to stand here and shut up now."

"Oh, bah!"

"Now then," Dor'ash told Vo'don in Orcish, "should we think about getting out of here?"

While talking, the orc absentmindedly rubbed his palms against his pants.

"Yah," Vo'don agreed, but glanced around and pointed at Thomas. "Dat's da human who helped me. His arm was hurt, will you heal him?"

Dor'ash looked at his old friend with a bit of surprise, but no malice. Scratching his chin, he shrugged.

"I suppose I could," he said, looking past Vo'don's shoulder. "If they will let me."

Vo'don turned, seeing Thomas glancing between his two human friends in exasperation. Both of them held out an arm each between him and the members of the Horde, though at least Martin had an uncertain look in his eyes.

"I really think we can trust him if Vo'don says so," Thomas said.

"No one who allies with the undead is a friend of mine," Edward growled. His courage had to be greater than his wit considering the situation.

Martin, at least, lowered his arm a little bit after throwing a glance over Dor'ash and the three trolls – obviously taking note of Vo'don's scowl. He did not back off completely, however.

"A sound look on things, I think," Dor'ash said with a nod. He looked at Vo'don again, and shifted language. "The right arm?"

"Dat's right," Vo'don said, mouth twisting into a smirk.

"Very well."

Dor'ash raised his hand, waving it about as his voice sunk to a murmur. Before anyone could react, a soft glow rose around his fingers, and the same light enveloped the bandage on Thomas' arm.

Edward scowled, but Martin actually seemed to relax a little. Thomas just looked at the healing light, shoulders sinking further. He only blinked when the glow flowed upwards and around his head before disappearing. As Dor'ash let his arm fall to his side, the healing spell faded completely.

"Your head got a little rattled back there. It should be alright now," Dor'ash said. "The arm is healing well, but you should keep it dressed for a day to be on the safe side."

"Thank you," Thomas said, choosing to speak Orcish again – which Vo'don had actually hoped he would.

Dosha let out a chortle in the background, and Vo'don grinned with amusement at Dor'ash's fleshy brows shooting upwards in surprise. Just the reaction the raptor charmer had anticipated. One did not see a baffled shaman too often.

"Well I'll be!" Sarah said in Common, poking her head out from behind the orc, "it can speak."

Thomas opened his mouth, thought better of it, and didn't answer her.

Nodding, Vo'don caught Dor'ash's eye.

"Let's get outta here," the troll said.

Though with a remainder of surprise in his gaze, Dor'ash nodded. When Vo'don waved at the others and started walking, everyone followed – though he heard that the humans muttered among themselves. He chose to ignore it – the road should not be much farther ahead, and with two more capable fighters there were less to worry about. Although he still did not appreciate the stench rising from Sarah, nor her presence at all.

After a little while the curiosity got the better of him and he looked around at Dor'ash. To hell with tact – trolls cared little for those things by default, anyway.

"Why are ya walking around with a Forsaken, mon?"

By the chuckle, it sounded as if Dor'ash had anticipated the question. He started to speak, but Sarah cut him off.

"It's not that we're traveling together, per se…" she said, inclining her head towards the orc in a disturbingly coquette way. "I'm just following him around because I plan on killing him in his sleep and having him for breakfast."

She smiled, and Dor'ash didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at the death threat. Despite himself Vo'don chuckled once he felt sure of it being a joke, even more so when he heard Thomas make a strange sound behind them. By the sound of it the paladin had figured out the spoken words.

"What are they saying?" Martin asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Thomas started to try his hand at a translation, when Sarah looked around and repeated herself in Common.

The looks on the humans' faces were too much, and all three of the trolls laughed.

"I'm not worried," Dor'ash said, grinning at Vo'don. "She keeps saying that, but she's had several chances and not acted on them."

"That's because you always make sure I get a good square meal for dinner," Sarah said, returning to Orcish. She looked at the trolls, but pointed a sharp, fleshless fingertip at the big, green face high above her own. "He's too smart for me."

"Oh yes," Dor'ash started. "Like that time in Deadwind pass when-"

"Shh!" She slapped at his arm, scratching the gauntlet. "You promised never to tell anybody about that!"

"I don't remember promising anything," he said, amused.

"Of course you don't, between being unconscious you were delirious."

She skipped forwards, ducking his sweeping backhand. A smart move, as the force very well might have taken her head off.

"I think this started out with _me_ being about to insult _you_," Dor'ash growled.

"If I have to deal with helping humans, you better deal with being insulted, sweetheart." She spun around, blew him a kiss and then returned to walking.

If Dor'ash's annoyed look had not given away for a smirk, Vo'don would have been even more curious about why the orc had chosen such a traveling companion. As it were, it sort of started to make more sense. Vo'don did remember that the shaman always had had a certain kind of humor, and by the sound of it Sarah had much of the same brand.

Still not completely comfortable with her around, but it could have been worse. There might have been more than one Forsaken, and no Dor'ash to even it out.

Vo'don turned his mind to what lay ahead. Even now he was not sure what to do once they actually reached the main road. Thomas and the others were not really fit to make it anywhere on their own – the main road might be safer to travel than the jungle, but far from completely lacking danger. Only heavily guarded caravans or large groups of warriors could feel utterly safe in these kinds of areas. If the three humans were left on their own there, they might as well never have been saved at all.

An annoying problem – it would take a long time following them towards Darkshire or Booty Bay, but he might have to spare that time. He and his students. But Grom'gol needed to be warned about the Skullsplitters, too. It would have to be handled with care or there would be repercussions, and Vo'don felt that it was something he had to handle himself. If there would be trouble with the enemy trolls, it was his fault.

He didn't even want to get started on all the problems that might pile up if they were spotted traveling the main road – spotted by either Alliance or Horde. Trolls and humans were not exactly known to be on friendly terms. Even worse for the moment in the Alliance's eyes, with a Forsaken and an orc making sure that the humans were fewer in number. Not to mention that the men and all of the trolls' clothes were marked with drying blood.

Whatever they did, they had to be very careful.

Silently, Vo'don glanced at Rohdjinn and Dosha. They walked along at the rear of the group, keeping an eye on the surroundings.

Yes, both of them good kids. They had gone through all this without speaking a word of complaint, although Roh had looked less than enthusiastic at being used as bait earlier. They deserved recognition.

Vo'don knew that he would have to think of some way to repay them for all their trouble, but it had to wait. Same with the humans – he would just have to discuss the rest of the trip with his students and Dor'ash once they reached the road. The orc was sure to offer some help. Although knowing better than to relax in this area, Vo'don allowed himself to feel more at ease. Maybe it would work out better than it could have.

He was unaware, as they all were, of the silvery eyes watching them from a tree at a safe distance. Hidden in the leaves a body shifted without a sound, and the shadows played across softly purple skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three, Remembering Allies

Thomas could admit that the whole situation was absurd. Never had he truly believed that he would meet Vo'don again, but the troll had reappeared like a guardian angel when Thomas and his friends should, by all accounts, have been doomed.

Perhaps not so much absurd as a case of unbelievable luck.

Or, well, that had been the case before. Now two human paladins and their warrior friend were walking through the jungle with three trolls, an orc and a Forsaken, in peace.

_That _was absurd.

His stomach still lurched occasionally, in a way that had nothing to do with his wounds. Rather it was because of the stench; Sarah walked a few steps to the side of everyone else, but that only helped a little. The wind just wasn't strong enough to help much.

Edward and Martin were still uneasy, it wasn't hard to tell considering their silence and tense, quick stride. Thomas couldn't quite blame them. It was all very odd indeed, a situation forced only by necessity to survive. For Edward and Martin, at least – they would gladly take off at any time if they got the chance, unlike Thomas who looked ahead at Vo'don's back. The troll walked in the lead now, speaking with his apprentices every now and then. Would there be a chance to talk some more with Vo'don once they were all safely on the road?

"Tell me if you start feeling dizzy. You have not recovered yet."

Thomas blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by Dor'ash's voice. Looking up, he found the shaman's dark eyes watching him, and Thomas got the feeling that the orc thought of him as an interesting specimen. While not completely sure what to make of Dor'ash, obviously a friend of a Forsaken, Thomas did feel worlds better after the orc had healed him. Until then he had not been sure about making it even as far as the road.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," Thomas said.

"You were lucky, being saved by a troll who's been around and about in the world for a while," Dor'ash said with a fangy grin (and had Thomas not spent some time seeking out and talking to open-minded orcs in the last year, he would have felt unsure whether or not that grin was a good or bad sign. To an untrained eye very little stood between cheerfulness and anger, when it came to orcs.). "Most of them like to think that the best way to get somebody healthy is to beat on them until they start moving again."

Thomas recalled Un'goro, and the troll priestess who had slapped Vo'don across the face to make him stand up.

"Yes, I've seen that," he said.

"One can't blame them for it, since it has always worked for them," Dor'ash said. He absentmindedly glanced over his shoulder, as if he had heard something.

The motion made Thomas look about as well, although he had not heard anything out of the ordinary. Dor'ash turned back with no sign of concern a moment later, and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

Figuring it had been a false alarm, Thomas forgot about it.

He debated with himself for a moment, but decided to try to keep talking. Ever since meeting Vo'don, Thomas found himself fascinated by the people he had once regarded simply as enemies. It wasn't often that he met any member of the Horde who was remotely friendly and talkative, so he took the chance.

"You said you were of the Frostwolf clan?" he said.

"Hmm?" Dor'ash replied, peering at Thomas.

"It's just, I thought that clan preferred to remain secluded from the rest of the world."

Dor'ash shrugged.

"Most of us, perhaps. But I wanted to serve the Horde better than that, even after Hyjal," he said. "We can't just leave the Warchief's side, even if he has enough warriors for an army now."

"I see, that's-"

"Wait, I've got this one," Sarah said, holding up the fingers of her right hand and counting them down – and back up – as she spoke. "Dor'ash's third cousin twice removed's brother-in-law has an adopted daughter whose aunt's second husband's teacher's hunting partner's brother married the granddaughter of a distant cousin to Thrall's grandfather."

It didn't help that she didn't have to pause for breath.

While the humans just blinked at Sarah – and the trolls, who hadn't understood half of that, only studied the humans' expressions with some curiosity – Dor'ash stared ahead at nothing and counted on his own fingers for a few moments.

"That distant cousin was one thrice removed," he finally said. "Otherwise you got it all."

"You know you've gotta tote it out to the world that you're so special for kinda sorta being related to the Warchief." Sarah reached out and picked at one of the black braids hanging down the orc's back, then seemed to glance at the other people in the group. "Now bow down, you're almost in the presence of orc royalty."

"You're not making any sense!" Martin said. It was probably as close to calling Sarah a halfwit as he dared to go.

"No, because Thrall isn't our king. He's the Warchief," Dor'ash said.

"Semantics. It's not that different."

"Tolly diffrunt!" Dosha cut in, causing as much amusement with her tone as with her horrid Common – although in his own mind, Thomas suspected that he sounded at least as bad when speaking Orcish.

Sarah said something about 'you should be on my side', but the long speech held too many unfamiliar words for Thomas to understand them completely. The trolls laughed, however, and Dosha patted Rohdjinn and Vo'don's shoulders.

Still smirking, Sarah turned her face towards Dor'ash. Only then did Thomas note that although the orc laughed softly, he was distracted. The small dark eyes were turned upwards, and he walked slower than before. Listening.

But there was nothing except birds chirping and the rustle of leaves, not to Thomas' ears at least. Then Dor'ash fell silent and actually stopped walking. Since this was noticed pretty quickly, the whole group came to a halt and looked at him with varying degrees of surprise and frowns. He, however, seemed to have forgotten about them completely, lost in whatever he was searching for.

Thomas threw a questioning look at Vo'don, who raised a finger to his thick lips and hushed.

It didn't take long before Dor'ash shook his head and returned his gaze from the treetops.

"I hope the voices are telling you to make us some human stew," Sarah said before he could speak, causing winces all around. Vo'don glared at her, and Thomas half expected to be dragged off very quickly by Martin and Edward.

"Stop making them nervous!" Dor'ash sharply said.

In lack of eyes, she made a rolling motion with her entire head. Shaking his head again, Dor'ash turned to Vo'don and they exchanged a few quick sentences in Orcish. During the discussion they both began walking again, ushering everyone else to do the same. Thomas managed to catch enough words to get a basic idea, but either way Dor'ash offered a translation once he finished speaking with Vo'don.

"The spirits say that we should get to the main road as quickly as possible," the orc said. Thomas took note of, however, that he had told Vo'don "I believe the spirits say…", rather than expressing himself in certain terms like he did in Common.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Edward said, eyebrows sinking.

Dor'ash didn't show any reaction to the suspicious tone, nor did he reply. He remained silent, frowning as he glanced about one last time.

Although aware of the shaman ability to hear voices from beyond the mortal realm, Thomas had never actually seen anybody stopping to listen and take advice. Up until now that ability had after all belonged exclusively to members of the Horde, and he had not had a chance to spend much time with any draenei. He wasn't sure how well to believe in whispering nature spirits – Edward certainly didn't seem to fully do – but when it came down to it, there were many much stranger things in the world. Sarah and the trolls definitely took it seriously, looking around much more than before.

Wisely, Thomas didn't comment the fact that Dor'ash had not sounded so sure of himself when talking to Vo'don. Questioning the orc would probably not be a smart thing to do, for one. Secondly, looking at Edward and Martin, Thomas felt that they were uncomfortable enough as it were.

For a while the group continued through the jungle in silence, all of them tense to make it to the road.

When about twenty minutes had passed, however, with nothing worse than a small green snake lazily watching them while hanging from a branch, the most acute tension was just about settled. Although still keeping an eye on the environment, Rohdjinn started a low conversation with Dosha, soon involving Vo'don and a whole lot of hand gesturing and snickers.

They didn't speak loud enough for Thomas to catch anything that they said, but the cheerful murmurs eased up the edginess.

After a little while, Thomas scrounged up the guts to brave the gap between races and factions again, and turned to Dor'ash. The shaman glanced at the surroundings occasionally, but he also watched the trolls with the shadow of a grin on his face.

"I only have a very basic grip of Orcish, but out of curiosity," Thomas said, "all that 'third cousin twice removed's adopted daughter's brother-in-law' from before, you have a single word for all of it, don't you?"

Dor'ash looked at him in renewed surprise, but then let out a rumbling chuckle.

"Three words. That hunting partner breaks the flow," he said.

"Ah, right. I should have guessed, how silly of me." Thomas grinned, and even Sarah chortled with some approval at his jocular tone. That almost managed to not be utterly creepy.

The paladin looked at his human companions, who both stared at him.

"They're very particular about their family, you know," Thomas said, then turned away again. He really tried to take on a pacifying tone, but doubted that it helped.

Maybe he ought to tone it down. Once they reached the road he might very well be left with Edward and Martin. If the three of them got stuck in another bad situation, it would be best for all if they did not think him crazy.

"Unusual to see a human having enough knowledge of Orcish to guess that," Dor'ash said, calling Thomas from his thoughts.

The paladin nodded. It was true, and sure hadn't made his attempts to learn the language any easier.

"Vo'don did something for my world view some time ago," he said as an explanation.

"Un'goro? He told me about it once." The orc threw an amused glance between the troll and human, then addressed Vo'don first. While the troll chuckled, Dor'ash looked at Thomas again. "Curious way to become friends."

_I hardly know him._

But it was not Thomas' first thought.

"It's not just that you think of me as a pet, is it?" he said instead, giving Vo'don a slanted smile.

Dor'ash caught on and translated, smirking. The trolls apparently found this joke to their liking as they had to press a hand each to their mouths to muffle their laughter. Vo'don, grinning, thumped Thomas' back so hard that he nearly fell over. Out of the corner of his eye, the paladin noticed how Edward and Martin were staring at him again, and he inwardly winced. So much for toning it down.

If he was brutally honest with himself, that mental wince wasn't as honest as it may have been, either. Part of him soared doubly for meeting Vo'don again, and to be given this chance to show two old friends that he had been right – not all members of the Horde were murderous monsters. Most people he had tried to strike up a discussion with only scoffed or called him mad at the mere notion that there might be more to skin that wasn't pink or purple.

Vo'don was speaking again, and the Orcish words were simple enough for Thomas to figure them out pretty easily. Therefore, he made a "hey!" comment at the beginning of Sarah's gleeful translation.

"He says 'Well, what else would you be good for'."

Thomas laughed, grinning at Vo'don and completely ignoring the fact that Edward shook his head in disbelief.

"… but if you're asking me, I can think of a few other things," Sarah added, her chipped, yellow teeth stark between her greenish lips.

Not quite sure how serious the underlying threat was, despite her cheerful tone, Thomas just turned his face away from her and waved his hand dismissively. He could not help it. As soon as he almost managed to forget how eerie she was, she did something to remind him. Dor'ash seemed alright with her, had to be if they were travelling together – despite her promise to kill and eat him – but Thomas could tell that Vo'don had not trusted her at first and still looked at her sharply whenever she addressed the humans.

Thomas was certainly not fool enough to believe that all trolls and orcs even under Thrall's rule were reasonable – the world would not be in its current state of constant guerilla war if that had been true. However, these days he could at least admit, more than before he met Vo'don, that the fault was just as much the Alliance's.

Blood elves too, he could call reasonably angry – horribly misused during the last war as they had been, and to blatantly call them traitors was to deliver a too simple judgment upon a very complicated, painful truth.

But Forsaken?

Certainly, one might argue that they had been brought into their current state by the same evil force that wanted to enslave all races, but… no matter how you looked at it, they weren't natural. It hadn't been their fault if they were killed and raised again by the Lich King's forces, of course not, and still… they certainly did not try to invoke sympathy. All the tales of poisoned people and animals could not be mere rumors. Sure there were one or two that had turned their services back to that of the Light, but from what Thomas had heard those were not very pleasant to deal with either.

Even looking at Sarah, walking there like a stick doll beside the towering Dor'ash and the trolls, made Thomas' skin crawl. He could not quite put his finger on it – it went beyond the fact that her fingers ended in bare, sharpened bone, and that her dry flesh had been worn down around her elbows, that she probably had no eyes, that the stench of her throbbed in his nostrils even now.

She shouldn't be walking around. She was dead.

Yet it was beyond even that fact. There was something else, perhaps the _reason_ that she was walking around and having so much of a character even when there wasn't a hint of life left in her body. Something about the way that she smiled, the shadows of her face – the instinctual knowledge that that amused smile would be just the same if she was listening to screams of agony instead of the trolls' chuckling. Foul magic animated her, not a soul.

Then Thomas' musings shattered when Dor'ash let hear a mix between a sigh and a growl, and backhanded Sarah over her shoulder for her last comment. It looked like just a light slap, but it sent her flying into a tree trunk.

A clatter and rustle followed the first slam as she tumbled into the leaves surrounding the base of the tree. In the very brief silence, Rohdjinn muttered something that probably meant "uh-oh".

Hissing, Dor'ash waved at everyone else to back off – with his other hand, because the one he had used on Sarah he rubbed clean against his chest armor. He started to speak in Orcish, but had to duck when a small blast of fire almost turned the hair on top of his head to ash.

Sarah rose out of the undergrowth, one hand on the back of her neck and the other waving at Dor'ash's face as she growled.

Thomas could have sworn he heard something about "brittle neck" and "Thrall", but it was difficult to make out anything from her angry snarls. He held his breath, half expecting Dor'ash to be turned into a heap of coal or worse at any moment.

For a little while Dor'ash let her cuss him out, then shrugged and turned away. The Orcish words for "asking for it" made it out of his mouth, but then there was a flash of light.

Dor'ash spun around and said "baah".

A moment of disbelief ensued while Sarah smugly watched the angry sheep in front of her. Then Rohdjinn broke down laughing in the background while Vo'don stepped in between the sheep and the undead woman. Thomas just blinked at it all, hardly believing what he had just seen.

At the glare she got from Vo'don, Sarah cooed and pulled her arms up against her chest. Grunting in annoyance, the troll turned around and punched Dor'ash's wooly head. The spell broke just like that, and with a poofing sound the sheep disappeared in a cloud from which the orc rose up – looking very displeased indeed.

"You be the judge!" Sarah said in Common, looking at the three humans. "He's ten times bigger than me and twenty times stronger. Self-defense!"

Martin reacted first, throwing up his hands.

"Leave me out of this madness," he said, and there wasn't any humor in his voice. Edward shook his head in agreement.

For a moment Dor'ash looked like he was going to bear down on the smirking Sarah with righteous fury, but then he just shook his head and started walking again.

The others followed, though some shuffling made sure that Sarah was not allowed to walk behind anybody else. Rohdjinn kept snorting with laughter and soon Dosha's confused look eased up in a grin too, seemingly smitten by her friend's amusement. Their teacher seemed less amused, but left it at that.

In retrospect, Thomas would find it funny too. Right then and there, he could not feel anything but disbelief.

Still, no matter what they felt about the ridiculous situation they had just borne witness to, the group continued onwards.

What had just happened only made the next events all the more painful, in contrast.

Perhaps they had been too loud, or too relaxed as they got closer to the main road. But in their defense, there were eight of them, and five of them fully capable, armed warriors. There should not have been much to fear – enemy trolls and the beasts of the jungle would think twice about attacking such a group. True, the jungle was not safe for anyone in low numbers, but it wasn't as if they walked on while completely ignoring the world surrounding them. With all their looking around, they would have spotted most apparent dangers in advance.

Their enemies must have planned and placed themselves carefully.

When it happened, Thomas had just gotten into a hair-tearing practice with Vo'don, trying to teach the troll to pronounce the "th"-sounds in Common. In exchange, Vo'don forced Thomas to struggle with the deeper growls used in some Orcish words. Although he suspected that he was being silently laughed at by Rohdjinn and the others, the paladin did his best.

Dor'ash's snicker showed when he shook his head at something that must have been a horribly botched attempt to speak the Orcish word for "tree". Much later Thomas would learn that just a slight mispronunciation of that word changed the meaning quite radically, but Vo'don spared him that truth for the time being. Or rather, nobody got a chance to dwell deeper on the subject.

Still shaking his head Dor'ash reached for his water sack and raised it to his lips.

A wet _thunk_ and a curse from the orc shattered the peace. Thomas looked up and drew a sharp breath as he saw the arrow stuck in the water sack just before Dor'ash dropped it. The orc tore the war hammer from his belt and shield from his back, spinning at the direction from which the arrow had come. Just as quickly, Vo'don's dagger appeared in his hand, Dosha had her own bow and arrow out and Rohdjinn crouched with his axe ready. Sarah was the slowest, clawing for her staff even as she backed together with everyone else. With no weapons, the humans could only follow suit and recoil, at least until the attacker spoke up.

"I have my next arrow trained on your right eye, orc!" a voice called out from the treetops, and Thomas tensed along with the Horde's warriors.

That singing accent could only belong to a night elf.

"Surrender your weapons, monsters!" another shouted, more to the left of the group.

Thomas brought himself in front of Vo'don and the others with a couple of steps, spreading both arms.

"Brothers of the moon, I am Thomas Southstone, paladin of the Silver Hand. These people are not our enemies!" he called. "If not for them, my companions and I would have been killed by Skullsplitter trolls-"

"Don't listen to him, he's a crazy troll lover!" Edward shouted, leaping out of reach before anybody could react. "They're taking us to the Horde's base camp!"

Thomas spun around, staring at his friend. As if from a great distance he heard Dor'ash and the trolls growl. But Vo'don almost sighed more than snarled, as if he had expected it.

There was no pity in Edward's eyes. He stared back at Thomas, his teeth bared. Both Sarah and Dor'ash could surely have blasted him with magic right where he stood, but they all knew what the elves would do then.

"Martin-" Thomas started, looking at his other friend pleadingly.

For a moment, Martin glanced quickly between Thomas, Edward, Vo'don and the treetops. His hands clenched.

Then he backed away and joined Edward, avoiding Thomas's stare.

Vo'don snarled, short and hard.

"More humans ahead," he grunted in Orcish, eyes thin slits as his nostrils flared.

"At least three elves," Dor'ash muttered. His sharp gaze ran over the trees, probably seeing far more than Thomas' wild glance could catch.

The orc raised his head, and his voice as he changed language.

"What this man says is true," he called and motioned at Thomas, but he could not have much hope of being believed. "We were only following them towards the road for safety. It's not our fault that only one of them believes-"

His attempt ended in a sharp wince as another arrow grazed his ear and he ducked down, growling. Four more arrows buried in the ground dangerously close to his feet, from various treetops.

"We have little patience with your kind," the first night elf called. "Throw down your weapons!"

The trolls drew closer to Dor'ash, all of them baring their teeth.

Lost for words, Thomas caught Vo'don's eyes and the look stabbed the man right through the chest. The troll glanced towards Edward and Martin, not saying a word but speaking with the small motion.

_Go. Live._

There might not be a way out of this for Vo'don and the others, and they realized it.

Thomas shook his head. No, not this, they could not… it was just like Un'goro, just like it, but Vo'don had managed to talk those orcs and trolls into sparing Thomas and Collins. There had to be something… but Thomas could think of nothing.

Then he suddenly saw from the corner of his eye how Sarah, hidden between Dor'ash and Rohdjinn's huge backs, emptied a small black bottle into her mouth. She seemed to look at him, dropped the bottle and pressed a finger against her lips. Just as quickly she lifted the other hand and ran her black-purple tongue over all of her fingertips, a sight Thomas definitely could have lived without. He looked away quickly, unsure of what exactly she thought she was doing.

Dor'ash straightened and met Vo'don's gaze. Both of them glanced at the two younger trolls, who glared back.

"This is your final warning. Throw down your weapons!" the night elf called.

With one last growl Dor'ash turned back towards the jungle.

"Fine," he snarled.

His war hammer and shield sent tremors through the ground on impact, even though they landed some ways away. Vo'don's daggers followed, then Dosha's bow and Sarah's staff. Rohdjinn grit his teeth audibly when he finally added his axe to the heap.

"On your knees, and do not dare to try anything," the night elf commanded.

They grudgingly obeyed. Vo'don and Rohdjinn's normally bent backs made the movement seem awkward, more like they curled up until they forced themselves straighter.

Four human men stepped out of the bushes a few yards away, grinning and with swords drawn. Edward wasted no time joining them, and Martin followed him like a dog. Thomas stared at all of them.

What were so many of the Alliance doing in this – more or less – Horde territory? They wore assorted armor, and though a little rugged they did not look like they had spent too long in jungle. The fact that all of them were somewhat freshly shaved proved that they had higher standards than mere robbers. Besides, if it had been only humans one could still have figured they were bandits, but the night elves…

The nasty truth was probably that their only intended purpose was situations just like this. Only in this case, there was a paladin who did not agree on their right to hunt members of the Horde.

"Looks like the tables have turned, eh?" the man in front drawled.

"No!" Thomas snarled, spreading his arms protectively again. "Curse you, no!"

"We don't mind hanging orc lovers either, if that's how it is," the leader said, eyes narrowing at Thomas.

Martin started to protest at that, but Edward silenced him with a glare. He faltered, glanced at Thomas and looked away again.

The world crumbled beneath Thomas' feet – he racked his brain desperately, there _had_ to be some way to stop this, they could not…

"Those two are hardly adults, at least let them go," Dor'ash said, pointing with his thumb at Rohdjinn and Dosha.

Contemptuous laughter from the humans drenched his words halfway through the sentence, but he still finished it.

"And let them get a chance at serving the Horde properly?" one of the men said, snorting.

Dor'ash clenched his teeth, but did not reply. There was no defense against that one.

Knowing it was hopeless, just as Dor'ash had known that all he had said had no chance, Thomas made one last desperate attempt.

"What are you accusing these people of?" he demanded.

It was useless – they were an orc, and undead and three trolls. And now the humans sneered at him as well.

"Tell you what," the leader said, "how about we bring you along to Stormwind, and we can all talk about this with a judge. Then you can get executed all officially instead."

"They haven't done any harm!" Thomas snarled.

An arrow hit the ground before him. He stumbled back, almost crashing into Vo'don.

"I believe you shall sit down as well, human," one of the night elves said.

Thomas opened and clenched his fists, but when everyone in the group of humans glared at him and two of them raised their swords just a little bit more, he sank down on his knees.

"Oy, mon…"

He heard Vo'don's soft murmur, but didn't dare look around in case the night elves would jump to conclusions and decide to hurry things up.

"If all traitors are sorted out, shall we get on with it?" the human leader said, smirking as his henchmen grinned approval. He looked at the silent, kneeling group. "Orc, you the leader of this rabble?"

No reply. Dor'ash stared straight ahead.

"That one leads the trolls," Edward said, pointing at Vo'don.

Thomas froze, but Dor'ash's voice cut off anything he could have thought of saying.

"Under my command," the orc said, voice low and rumbling.

"Ah," the leader said. "Get over here."

Dor'ash started to stand, knowing, like all of them did, that he would be beaten within an inch of his life and then finally killed. Just for being an orc.

Same for them all.

He had only gotten halfway up when there was a crackling sound, and the stench of Sarah disappeared.

No, not disappeared, only relocated to somewhere to their right. Teleporting? Was she actually running away? Thomas looked around sharply without thinking, but so did Dor'ash, frozen in mid-motion.

"Traitor!" the orc snarled, straightening further as if in half a mind to try reaching her with a spell.

A night elf in the right direction called out and an arrow flew between the trees. Sarah shrieked somewhere ahead, rage and fear merging in her hoarse voice.

"Bring that thing back here!" the human leader snapped.

Another elf's spell cast a green glow over the leaves he hid behind, and Sarah shrieked again. Something long and thin moved in the foliage. Twigs and leaves whispered and snapped as the Forsaken came back into view, dragged twisting and struggling by a vine wrapped around her arms. The vine hauled her up in between the humans and the prisoners, then stopped moving. She tried to stand, but the arrow stuck in her left thigh seemed to make it too difficult for her.

With a disgusted expression, the leader looked at one of his henchmen and waved his hand at Sarah. The chosen man stepped forwards, looking no less revolted as he raised his sword.

"No! No please, don't!" Sarah cried, struggling to get up on her knees. She held her bound arms towards the man, clasping her fingers as if praying. "Do you think I wanted this? They broke down the door, we couldn't- that dark eternity, and his voice, gods, his voice!"

She swayed, sobbing, and the man watched her with his scowl digging deeper into his forehead.

Dor'ash's huge hand hung by his side, just within sight for Thomas, and the paladin noticed the green fingers wiggling just the slightest bit. A tiny blue sparkle danced over the fingertips.

"I've been free for such a short time!" Sarah wailed, "please, a day, just an hour more!"

The man in front of her pulled himself together. Thomas held his breath, muscles tensing.

"Your suffering will be over soon," the executor said and raised his sword to cut Sarah's head off.

But in the middle of his upwards motion Sarah bolted from the ground, swinging her hands at him. He staggered back, swearing, with four bright red scratches on his cheek from her sharp fingertips. Though stumbling she ducked around him, throwing herself at the other humans. They swore and tried to punch at her, but as close as she were they could not use their swords and not even the night elves could risk firing their arrows at such a chaos.

It ended quickly, however – Sarah felt no fear of pain or death, but she was small and her movements clumsy at best. She could only do so much before one of the elves cast a second spell and the vine ripped her backwards into the open area. Even as she fell into the grass, she chortled like a madwoman.

"You little bitch-!" one of the men started.

In the middle of the last word, somebody screamed.

The man who would have killed Sarah stared at his hand, fingers smeared with blood from his wounds. But the red liquid's color deepened with alarming rate into a sick brown, and those who could see his face saw dark lines spreading under his skin from the scratches. He screamed again, clawing at his bleeding cheek. Another man cried out, clutching his arm just above a scratch where his armor had not protected him from a graceless swing. His blood too darkened, and his fingers twitched uncontrollably.

Sarah got the attention again with a loud, hoarse laugh.

"Victory for Sylvanas!" she howled.

Her hands flared with red light. In the next moment she exploded in flames.

Thick black smoke spewed from her writhing form, filling the air with a mind-numbing stench of burning, rotten flesh. The men recoiled, coughing, wide eyed. From the tree tops, desperate coughs and cries announced the night elves' utterly broken focus. That was all the prisoners needed.

Snarling, Dor'ash flung his hands towards the nearest tree and a blast of blue light shot through the air. The second it disappeared into the leaves there was a new scream. A night elf tumbled from the branches, one arm and half his chest coated with ice.

Vo'don's huge hand grabbed Thomas' arm and hauled him to his feet and then all five of them were running away through the jungle. The stench of the smoke forced Thomas to cough and blink tears from his eyes, but he never slowed down. Vo'don and the others had much longer legs, and they could not afford to wait. All Thomas could do was to hope that he would not stumble.

A hard thwack behind them told Thomas that an arrow had hit a tree, but by the sound of the coughs and cries the men and elves were trying to get away from the foul smoke. No other arrow pierced the air, the hunter too caught up in saving himself or his friends.

With a sudden crackle somebody – some_thing – _dropped out of the air ahead to their right. It crashed into the vegetation like a rag doll, and a familiar stench doubly assaulted Thomas' nose. He almost gagged, but managed to control himself by willpower alone.

Dor'ash took a turn and scooped Sarah up from the ground without missing many paces. He threw her over his shoulder and continued, although the wisps of smoke still rising from her oozing, charred remains made him cough again.

Running behind the orc, Thomas got a little too good view of Sarah's now hairless, and partly also skinless, head bouncing against Dor'ash's back. At least her face remained thankfully obscured – the leather straps seemed to have fallen off, which probably did not make her look any more pleasant. What remained of her clothing clung to her in scorched patches, but it was hard to tell it from the skin.

Only the fact that she held her hands weakly balled up as if not to scratch Dor'ash's armor showed that she was still conscious. Thomas quickly looked away and focused on trying not to stumble or fall too far behind.

He could not tell how long they had been running, but black spots were dancing before his eyes when the others finally slowed down. Vo'don even stopped and turned, waiting for Thomas to make it over the slight distance that separated them. They continued, walking quickly but at least no longer running. The sound of the trolls and Dor'ash's heavy breathing almost managed to be as loud as Thomas' own gulps for air.

He heard bits of a brief, breathless conversation between Vo'don and Dor'ash, but most of the words were drowned out or distorted by his or their panting.

"Don't dink dey follow," Vo'don finally gasped in Common, to which Thomas could only nod. Hopefully that was true, and the hunters had their hands full figuring out if they were dying.

That reminded Thomas that all of them too had been brought to cough because of the smoke. Seeing what had happened to the men she managed to wound back there, poison was obviously involved. An icy feeling knotted his stomach, but he had no breath to formulate a question about it. Luckily, it turned out that he was not the only concerned one.

Vo'don spoke to Dor'ash again, and the orc turned his face towards what he was carrying over his shoulder.

"Sarah, are you awake?" he asked, rattling her slightly. He seemed to have caught his breath fairly well by now, if not completely. How in the name of the Light and everything holy could he deal with having Sarah that close to his nose, with wisps of smoke still rising from her body, and _still _get his breathing under control? Then again, no telling how long the two of them had travelled together. Perhaps she did this so often that he no longer cared.

Eugh.

Dor'ash spoke a clearer Orcish than the trolls, and it made it a little easier for Thomas to follow along with what was being said. Most of it remained guesswork from his side, however.

"Uhh…"

Sarah twitched, and actually seemed to regret it as she did not repeat the motion but returned to just hanging like a wet sock.

"Answer me, was the smoke poisonous?" Dor'ash sharply demanded. "We breathed it too."

It took a moment before Sarah answered, as if she had to collect the strength to do so.

"No… triiick…" she finally groaned, to general relief. Vo'don made a calming motion at Thomas to make sure the paladin got the message.

Dor'ash let out a thankful sigh and patted the thin back at his cheek. Judging by the sound she made, Sarah did not appreciate that.

"Good pet zombie," Dor'ash said.

"Ainn zzzom…"

Dosha spoke, out of breath and motioning towards Sarah and the jungle. Thomas only caught a few words, but he made a – rightful, as it would turn out shortly – guess that Dosha was as confused as he was about why Sarah had gone so far, instead of simply bringing herself to safety with the teleportation spell.

Dor'ash shook his head, ignoring the strange noises coming from Sarah. It sounded as if she wanted to snort in disdain and failed in every sense.

"When she's well, she'll tell us that it was because she only cares about killing as many Alliance as possible," he said. "Or somesuch."

"Yesss…" Sarah hissed.

Snorting, Dor'ash glanced at her. What he muttered had the universal tone of "whatever you say".

"I'm sorry, all of you." Thomas had finally gotten his lungs back under control. "Light, I'm sorry."

They all looked around at him, except Sarah who didn't even dignify him with a failed snort. Vo'don shook his head, touching Thomas' shoulder.

"You couldn't do ding," the troll said.

The hand was meant to be reassuring, but it only felt heavy. Thomas couldn't look Vo'don in the eye.

"But you managed to tell those trolls and orcs not to kill Collins and me in Un'goro," he said, looking away. "You people, you are far better than us."

"No, you've just been lucky," Dor'ash said. His expression was not unfriendly, however, despite his cynical words. When he spoke again, the tone too eased up. "You're a good man, though. You should go to Theramore and stay there."

"I have to survive that trip, first," Thomas darkly said.

"Indeed. One moment." Dor'ash turned to the trolls and they quickly spoke. It wasn't too difficult to understand the core of it with or without language skills, not with the expressions and hand motions.

Finally, Dosha said something and reached backwards. For the rest of his life Thomas would sometimes remember that moment and wonder where the heck she had kept the dagger she now pulled out. Although it didn't really matter where she had hidden it – right then, it only mattered that it was the only weapon they had. She hang it by her belt instead, so that she would be able to draw it quickly if needed, talking all the while.

At the end of the discussion Vo'don let out a loud sigh and rubbed his neck. Then he looked around at Thomas.

"Dangerous, we need, Grom'gol," Vo'don said, shaking his head.

"I understand."

Without their weapons, and Sarah out of commission, Dor'ash's magic would be the only real advantage the group had over the beasts and enemies that prowled the jungle. Making it to the base camp could be their only chance of survival – still, it was no mystery to Thomas what might happen to him if he went there too.

But he had as little choice as Vo'don and the others.

"Perhaps you should better tie me up," Thomas said, glancing in the direction they were heading. "I don't want to cause us even more trouble."

Vo'don had to ask Dor'ash to translate. As he heard the full explanation the troll's eyes narrowed – he obviously did not like the idea. After a moment he grunted and looked at Thomas.

"Ya trust, mon?" Vo'don asked.

Thomas managed to smile a little.

"Aye," he said.

"The others in the camp, though…" Dor'ash said, shaking his head. "We'll have to keep an eye on you."

"I'm grateful. I swear I won't say a word or let anyone know I understand some Orcish."

"Good, mon," Vo'don said, although he still did not look too happy. Yet he too had to realize that it had to be done. For the moment however, he shook his head and added, "but wait, maybe need run again."

"Heh…" Thomas shook his head, wanting desperately to think of something else than his chances of survival. "Is it honorable to run away?"

"Not really, but when somebody sets herself on fire to give you a chance to run…" Dor'ash patted Sarah's back, despite a groan of protest. He looked tired, but managed to smile a little. "It would have been rude not to, don't you think?"

"Very."

Thomas looked at Sarah's burnt head dangling against Dor'ash's back. The sight made the man's stomach churn, especially now that the need to flee could not distract him. Yet, for a moment he could not look away. Then she suddenly stirred, or rather twitched a little.

"'Ashh," Sarah moaned. "'an't mmov…"

Her incoherent mumbles were in Orcish, and Thomas would not have been able to piece together what she meant if Dor'ash had not questioned her in the same tongue.

"Can't move?" the orc said, glancing aside towards her.

"Mmh… urs…"

This time, Dor'ash looked sharply at her, and even the trolls made surprised noises.

"What, hurts?" Dor'ash said. Thomas, too, felt a stitch of disbelief when he understood. He had not believed something like that possible with the undead, and from the look of it the others thought the same.

"Mmh…!" Sarah groaned.

"How can it hurt if you're dead?"

Sarah tried to speak, but it turned into a clogged noise.

"Yes, I suppose this is a bit extreme," Dor'ash said. "Crazy girl." He tried to grin, but honest worry crept into his voice.

Still walking, Dor'ash moved his hand above Sarah's back. Healing magic flowed from his fingers into her, but she made no motion or sound. Finally, the orc ceased and shook his head.

"Your muscles are charred," he said. "This is beyond my ability. We'll have to find you a healer in Grom'gol."

Sarah groaned.

"Aoww…"

"Hm? Oh," Dor'ash said. He did something with his free hand, but Thomas couldn't see what from where he was. Then Dor'ash shook his head. "You burnt the arrow shaft. They'll have to dig the rest of it out."

"Shhh…" was the only sound Sarah managed to create in reply.

Thomas had his hand half raised and a healing spell half to his lips before he even noticed what he was doing. He drew back, logic telling him that he could not do any more than Dor'ash.

That healing by the blessings of the Light might not mix well with undead, that was only his second thought.

"Does she do this kind of thing often?" he asked, weakly trying to set his brain straight.

Dor'ash didn't even look around this time.

"She's done some things… nothing like this," he said.

Ahead of them the jungle thinned up, and soon they could see the road. It was with great relief that they stepped onto it, but that feeling faltered in Thomas' heart when he followed the others.

Nobody spoke for a while, but they hurried on, taking a smaller side road from the main and heading back into the jungle area. Here the foliage had been thinned out however, to make it easier for travelers to avoid sneak attacks.

It was with mixed feelings Thomas gazed ahead and spotted the distant palisade surrounding the Grom'gol base camp. The trolls and Dor'ash stopped and turned to him.

After a tense second, Thomas took in a deep breath and nodded. Vo'don sighed, but reached out and waved his hand, palm up, at his two apprentices. Obediently, Rohdjinn produced a roll of rope from one of his bags and handed it to the teacher.

As he crossed his wrists and held them up towards Vo'don, Thomas tried to smile reassuringly. He doubted that he managed. Vo'don said nothing, but as he tightened the rope he looked up at Thomas' face to make sure he wasn't pulling it too hard.

"We'll have to keep them from questioning you," Dor'ash said while Vo'don finished, "and for that we better have the answers they want. I don't mean any offense, but what were the three of you doing that deep in the jungle back there?"

Thomas winced at the memory – thinking of Edward and Martin now made him feel nauseous. True that neither of them had trusted their rescuers, but he could never have imagined that they would be so rotten. Shaking his head, he shook off the thoughts and answered.

"There was a messenger from Darkshire who disappeared a while back on his way to Booty Bay," Thomas said. "One of his guards made it and reported that they had been attacked by ogres. An associate of Edward's charged us to try to find the lost message; whatever it was about was apparently important to the Silver Hand. Spying on Grom'gol was never even considered, such a job suited none of us."

"Good enough," Dor'ash said, nodding when Vo'don did. "We believe you. We'll make everyone else do."

Vo'don patted Thomas' shoulder reassuringly. Dor'ash took the lead again, and the trolls moved up around the paladin as they all continued walking towards the camp.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four, Remember This Tomorrow

Thomas hit the ground inside the simple prison hard. Through the stars dancing before his eyes, he could vaguely see Vo'don standing outside the sharpened poles. The troll waved his hands about furiously, voice rising for every word he spoke as he argued with the orc and troll guards.

It turned into a shouting match very quickly, and one of the orcs rammed a huge fingertip into Vo'don's chest while snarling so much while talking that it was impossible for Thomas to make out a single word. He tried to sit up, watching with tight breath as the argument very obviously teetered on descending into a fight.

Vo'don straightened up in his full height, grabbing hold of the orc's wrist. They glared at each other, the orc forced to bend his neck backwards to look Vo'don in the eye. The free green hand clenched-

One of the troll guards stepped in between, ripping the orc's arm out of Vo'don's grip and looking between both of them while shouting. But when he turned a glare and finger towards the prison, Vo'don sunk back down and started shouting at him instead of the orc.

The prison was set outside, a half circle of poles against the wall protecting the inside of the base. Because of this, there was a lot of space for an audience. A considerable amount of orcs, trolls, some Forsaken and even a few blood elves stood by, watching the events unfold with various shades of curiosity.

Dosha and Rohdjinn stood by a little to the side, glaring at the argument. Thomas had a feeling that Vo'don had at some point ordered them not to get involved, because they certainly looked like they wanted to – but still they remained where they were, hands clenching and opening.

The troll guard pushed the orc backwards to clear some space, still snarling at Vo'don – but with more cold than rage, now. Within all the growls, Thomas managed to catch the phrase "we not in Sen'jin".

Glares from the audience flew between Thomas and the arguing trolls. No pity in their eyes, only interest in when and how the captured paladin would die. Gritting his teeth Thomas forced himself to subdue the instinctual wish to curl up further. Although he had known that he might be executed when they got to the camp, that early realization seemed a very weak comfort.

He stared out at the furious Vo'don. The troll growled, the strings with feathers and that one ring digging into the corded muscles of his arms.

Another voice rung out from further away, and Dor'ash pushed his way through the crowd of spectators. A second orc, dressed in purple robes lined with leather hems, followed him. Arms folded, Dor'ash stepped up beside Vo'don and joined into the growling match. The guards sourly listened this time, glancing between the shaman and the orc who had followed him. Some people in the audience whistled and stomped their feet.

Finally, the orc in the robes held up both hands to make everyone shut up. Amazingly, they did. Then he spoke, gesturing at Dor'ash, Vo'don and the prison while looking at the guards. Thomas did not catch every word, but now that somebody spoke without growling he could follow along a little better.

Something about the spirits, and trusting veterans. He mentioned Hyjal at least once. Finally the guards threw up their hands in exasperation and the troll grunted something at Vo'don. Not that Thomas got the words, but then tone said "fine, have it your way. Idiot."

Snorting in reply, Vo'don turned and leaped inside of the prison. He turned and sat down beside the surprised Thomas with a glare for anyone who stared at him. Even Dor'ash looked a little taken aback at this. After a moment though, he grinned approval.

"I see Vo'don wants to be sure you really are left alive," Dor'ash said in Common.

"What, you're having a sit-down strike for my sake?" Thomas said, lips twitching joylessly as he looked at the troll sitting beside him.

Vo'don watched him for a moment before asking.

"What dat?"

Throwing a glance to the side, Thomas noted that the guards glared at both of them. Looking back, he saw Vo'don sourly returning the suspicious looks. Eventually, the troll turned back to Thomas, who shrugged.

"It's… a little hard to explain," he lamely said.

Vo'don slowly nodded and patted Thomas' shoulder. He did so using his left hand, the one that he had lost in Un'goro.

The crowd began to loosen up and wander away, all of them showing more or less amounts of disappointment. Dor'ash too walked off, but his wave indicated that he would return shortly.

She looking a bit unnerved, and he grinning, Dosha and Rohdjinn sauntered a little closer to the prison – braving the scowls of the guards. They exchanged a few words in the vowel-rich troll language with Vo'don until he sent them off. Though looking back over their shoulders, the students left.

Placed as it was, the prison bathed in sunlight and would probably remain so until late evening. They must have built it so on purpose to make it even tougher for any poor sod getting himself captured. Poor 'Sodstone'. Thomas leant back against the camp wall and closed his eyes, trying not to let the heat get to him.

He was more grateful than he could ever say to each and every one of them, but he could not help wondering what this might mean for Vo'don and the others' reputation. The Alliance never took well to dissenters, as tales such as that of Sir Tirion Fordring showed. If the reactions from the people living in the base camp were any indication, the Horde was not very forgiving, either. And he himself would be hard pressed for anywhere to go if he made it to Theramore but failed to convince Lady Proudmoore to show him mercy.

It would have eased his mind if he could have spoken with Vo'don, but Thomas figured that the guards had enough reason to dislike both the prisoner and his protector. Better not strain this brittle situation even more.

Dor'ash came back briefly a few minutes later, just to hand Vo'don two pieces of bread and a water sack. Under the guards' glares, Vo'don opened the sack and gave it to Thomas who gratefully took several deep – if clumsy, because it's not easy to hold anything with tied hands – gulps before he lowered it.

Well, at least he was being left alive. That relief, and the water, was enough to make the sun bearable, he figured as he took a bite out of one of the breads. All his other problems and worries could only be faced in time, so he tried not to think too much about them.

At his side, Vo'don sat silent and valiant, playing big blue guardian.

* * *

Dor'ash headed towards the inn after giving Vo'don and Thomas the simple supplies – something he had dealt with personally because he didn't trust anyone else to keep from playing a nasty trick on a human prisoner.

He only stopped on his way to the inn to properly thank Far Seer Mok'thardin for his aid in saving Thomas' life from the guards. Combining the respect they deserved as a shaman and an esteemed raptor charmer Dor'ash and Vo'don might have won the argument, but perhaps not. Despite the twice weekly zeppelin coming to Grom'gol, Orgrimmar and Sen'jin was far away from these harsh lands.

Mok'thardin still just shook his head in disbelief at the whole affair when Dor'ash spoke to him again. Certainly the spirits seemed to voice support for sparing the human's life, and that was quite a story from the jungle, but to save a damn paladin after he wandered into Horde territory… bah.

Dor'ash shrugged it off and turned his focus towards his second great concern. Taking in a deep breath, even then feeling the faint odor, he stepped inside the inn.

It surprised him to find that instead of his nose trying to commit suicide when meeting with the stench of Sarah's burnt remains, it was assaulted by an intense smell of vinegar. That, however, mixed itself with the stench, countering it somewhat – but the final result was a dizzying nose cocktail.

He pressed a hand to his face and ignored the dirty look he got from the innkeeper.

"Nobody will be able to sleep, you know!" the other orc growled.

Dor'ash waved a pacifying hand over his shoulder and continued deeper into the inn, into one of the small side rooms. Nothing but a piece of canvas covered the doorway, but even with a proper door it probably would not have helped much against the smell.

Sarah was on the floor – at least one could make a certain guess that it was her. It became a little difficult because somebody had completely wrapped her up in a blanket. At her side a bony priest knelt, hands hovering over the covered body. On the other side of her sat another Forsaken man, this one wearing worn, black robes. He muttered to Sarah in Gutterspeak while writing on some papers on the ground, but when Dor'ash stepped inside he looked up and fell silent.

The priest too glanced at the orc, caught the frown and pinched the blanket covering Sarah.

"Drenched in vinegar," he said. "The innkeeper would not let us work with her in here otherwise, and not just the elves raised hell about the smell outside."

Dor'ash slowly nodded. Apparently satisfied with that, the priest turned back to Sarah, and a golden glow rose around his hands.

"Ah, master Coldbane." The man in the dark robes straightened up. "I have been trying to interrogate Sarah about the potion she used to deal with your little problem in the jungle. I'm afraid her limited ability to speak makes it difficult, however."

He sighed and got to his feet to face Dor'ash better.

"And who are you?" the orc asked.

The skeletal man nodded.

"Of course. My name is Philip Grayburrow, of the Royal Apothecary Society."

It didn't surprise Dor'ash. Sarah too dabbled in alchemy – she had run errands for the Society before. It always gave him a bad feeling, because he certainly didn't like the idea of _anyone_, especially not spirits knew how many Forsaken, running all over the countryside with unknown poison in their pockets.

The Forsaken swore up and down that it was all for finding a poison that would kill only the Scourge, but…

Philip was speaking again, demanding attention.

"What I've been able to find out through guesswork and her either groaning yes or no, or sounds of the sort… what I know is very basic. She managed to let me know that her current state was not due to the potion but her own magic. The rumors buzzing around outside are rather confusing though, so I would be grateful if you could tell me what exactly happened. I haven't been able to figure out which toxin she made use of, which is quite annoying. More details would be most valuable."

He really, really liked to talk, apparently. Dor'ash listened impatiently. More than what Sarah had done, he cared about what would be done about her now, and how she would be afterwards. But the undead priest was in the middle of a healing spell, the magic illuminating the whole room as it flowed over the body on the floor. Until that was over with, there would be no information about Sarah's state.

As it at least would kill some time, Dor'ash humored the apothecary and told him as much as possible. Since there had not been much time to make observations, Dor'ash wasn't sure how accurate his information was, but at the end Philip nodded with satisfaction.

"That confirms my suspicions," he said. Then he shook his head with a sigh – the latter probably a habit he still kept from his time among the living, more than anything else. "Through our guesswork I worked out that she applied the toxin onto her hands by pouring it into her mouth and then licking her fingers."

"She _what_?"

Dor'ash scowled down at his immobile, obviously crazy companion. She only let out a small groan.

Holding up his hands and wiggling the – literally – bony fingers, Philip piped up again.

"Not the way I would have done it either, but it's not easy for us to rub something in like you living creatures can," he said.

True, it would have clattered a lot, possibly alarming the sharp-eared elves. But still.

"And now she's poisoned too?" Dor'ash demanded.

"Indeed, although it's only making it harder for her to speak," Philip said. He quickly fished a green bottle from a pocket in his robe. "However, now that I'm sure what poison it was, I can give her an antidote."

He sat down, and the priest let the healing spell fade. Dor'ash looked away as they pulled the blanket aside, but saw from the corner of his eye how the priest lifted Sarah's limp, unresponsive body into sitting, supporting her head. Philip uncorked the bottle and put it to her lips, then paused when she groaned.

"You don't think you can swallow?" Philip asked.

Sarah groaned again, the sound voicing doubt. Grumbling, the priest laid her back down and pulled away even more of the blanket. Then he took out a not-too clean dagger and raised it above Sarah's darkened belly.

Dor'ash turned his back on the whole thing, but he still heard the _zak-shh-_sound and Sarah's grunt of protest. A low, wet noise followed as Philip simply poured the antitoxin straight into the patient's opened stomach.

Even after travelling with one for almost a year, Dor'ash could not help but find the Forsaken a disturbing lot at times like this.

He cautiously turned around again a moment later, when the rustling of cloth indicated that they were wrapping the blanket around Sarah again. Philip got to his feet and the priest followed him after a few seconds.

"I believe I have all the information I need, thanks to your assistance, master Coldbane," Philip said.

"How well can she recover after this?" Dor'ash asked.

The priest shrugged and shook his head, but his words countered the sinking feeling in the orc's gut.

"I will keep working on her later on and tomorrow," the undead healer said. "She should be able to move after a while, but to fully recover she will have to go to the Undercity. Unless you can find a better healer, of course. Also, now that the antidote can counter the toxin she swallowed, her ability to speak will return in a little while."

"I'm grateful for your help."

"Nothing to mention," Philip said with a cold smile. "We must take care of our own."

With that both of the rotting men left, and Dor'ash watched them with narrowed eyes until they disappeared behind the cloth door. The shaman really, really hated it when Forsaken said such innocent things, in too innocent tones.

Shaking it off, he sat down on the only cot in the room and watched Sarah in silence. The stench did not bother him too much. He had indeed been around her for long enough to get used to it, even if this crispy state coupled with the vinegar did mix things up.

Finally, he took in a deep breath to speak.

"Sarah…"

"Mh?"

"Remember when I said that I'd like to know about it when you're carrying lethal toxins in your bags?"

"Yyu n'ra'fu," Sarah grumbled. Her tone, more than the muffled mumbling, got the meaning across. Well, at least her voice had indeed recovered. Somewhat.

"I'm not being ungrateful," Dor'ash said. "If I end up having to carry you I probably won't have time to worry about the stuff leaking out of your backpack."

"O' 'ottl's do' 'reak."

Dor'ash rubbed his forehead.

"It's not about whether the bottles are difficult to break or not, and you know that."

For a little while, Sarah was silent. From the main room of the inn, one could hear a grumbling discussion. Sounded like the innkeeper and the priest.

"Fffool," Sarah finally muttered.

Grunting in annoyance, Dor'ash threw up his hands. He figured she could see him do it even through the cloth (she _did_ normally watch the world through a pair of leather straps), but she didn't make a sound until he had spoken.

"I know," he said, "you just wanted to poison a few humans and elves and scare the life out of the rest. Saving us wasn't even on your corrupt, evil mind."

"Heh."

Dor'ash just shook his head. While he did so, the cloth door was moved aside and Philip returned, followed by yet another undead man – this one in a blue mage's robe. Both of them merely nodded their heads at Dor'ash, who stood up with a frown.

"The innkeeper insists that we do something about the smell," Philip said, hunching down behind Sarah's head. "We're going to freeze you in a block of ice for now, Sarah."

"Mmh," she mumbled.

While not sounding enthusiastic, she did not protest. The mage sat down by Sarah's feet, facing Philip who spread his hands to the sides, hands turned up as if to catch something. Silent, Dor'ash watched as the mage bent his head and muttered in a low voice, holding up his hands like Philip did.

A flash, and a chill spread over the room. A slab of ice laid on the floor, closing over Sarah's body, beginning and ending by the two Forsaken men's hands.

The mixed stench still lingered in the air, but already – with its source encased – it began to dissipate. Satisfied, Philip and the mage stood up and left the room with a court good bye and a promise that the priest would return after resting.

Dor'ash sat down on the simple cot again and just shook his head as he looked at the ice block on the floor. Crazy girl. Crazy girl with many unpleasant friends.

Vo'don was in the right when questioning Dor'ash's reasons to travel with a Forsaken. He should know better than to trust one like Sarah. Truly. The way the undead men had acted only showed how little empathy they felt.

Demonic creations by birth, animated by dark magic.

If somebody used that as an argument, Dor'ash might reply – what right did an orc have to condemn those tainted by demon magic, even an orc hailing from a clan that managed to duck that corruption? The spirits, although obviously not too fond of her, never muttered a word of warning about Sarah.

And it was not the first time he owed her his life.

Getting to his feet, he placed one hand on top of the ice coffin. It chilled his skin, at the same time melting to water under his touch. It was already wet anyhow – the heat in the air fought against the magic. Sarah lay motionless, maybe "asleep", maybe awake and unable to move. She had no body heat to melt the slightest space around her.

There had been other times, when the two of them had gotten into situations Dor'ash knew that he might or might not have come away from alive without Sarah's help. Although his shamanistic power and sheer size always made him the stronger, there were things she could do that others would not.

Those other rough times he looked back on, and thought that he probably could have survived anyway. This time, he knew for sure that he and the others still breathed only because of Sarah. For whatever reasons she claimed ruled her actions. Doing this to herself, she made it possible for him to return to the woman and her son who waited for him in the Barrens.

"Thank you," Dor'ash murmured.

It would be a wonder if she even heard him, and the blanket hid any reaction she may have had. Either way, he knew her. She would just have called him a fool again.

The cold threatened to numb his hand, and he moved away from her silent prison.

* * *

A strong but not too rough shaking of his shoulder roused Thomas from sleep. He blinked, tried to rub his eyes and rediscovered that his hands were tied. The momentary confusion gave away for memory, and he sat up with a start.

Ouch. Every muscle in his body let him know that they were not amused at all with sleeping on the hard, dusty ground. Wincing, he rolled his shoulders and heard something pop. Ouch again.

"Is fine," Vo'don said, waving a calming hand.

Once seeing that Thomas was awake, the troll stood up.

"Whazzit?" Thomas yawned, clumsily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of one hand.

The fresh smell in the air and the crisp sunlight light told him that it was an obscenely early hour – yet the guards (changed sometime during the night but anyway) looked as alert and displeased with his still beating pulse as ever. Dor'ash stood on the other side of the poles, and Thomas woke up further at the sight of him.

"We should speak of how to go from here," the shaman said, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder at the near-empty camp. Only a few guards were moving about at this time in the morning. "Without a huge audience."

He pretended not to notice the dirty looks this earned him from the prison guards.

Although his legs felt stiff as tree trunks, Thomas stood up while Dor'ash continued speaking.

"The zeppelin won't come here in at least four days, and either way using that probably wouldn't be a good idea. It will go straight to the Undercity."

"Booty Bay, quick," Vo'don said, frowning.

Thomas nodded, clenching and unclenching his bound hands. As much as he trusted Vo'don and the others, even Sarah had (theoretically) given him kinder looks than any passerby had done throughout yesterday. Leaving for Alliance or neutral territory sounded like a very, very good thing.

Duskwood may have been much closer by, and the road theoretically safer due to being shorter. However, chances were greater that his ex-friends would go that way for the same reasons. And there would be more Alliance people to spread the word about the traitor to.

"Probably the best idea," he said in reply to Vo'don's comment, trying to push aside all thoughts on how he would get anywhere through the jungle in one piece. One problem at the time...

And he had lost his sword, almost all his money, and his entire inventory. All he had left was the armor he wore, and a tiny pouch with some silver coins hidden under his shirt. It would pay the ship fare across the ocean, but...

The dark thoughts were probably written across his face.

"We go with you," Vo'don said.

When Thomas looked up sharply, the troll grinned. Showing off that many teeth should not have been that reassuring. Still, Thomas' worried face cracked in a grateful smile.

"Do you really have time for that?"

He had to ask. Catching raptors could not be an easy job, especially out here, and there had already been so much trouble...

Vo'don snorted at him.

"You die now, I mad," the troll said.

"We'll come along too," Dor'ash said once he had finished chuckling. He made a motion towards the inn. "Sarah needs better care than she can get out here. The priest has done all he can. We'll just get new weapons and we can head out."

Thomas was about to question how wise it would be to move anybody with such severe damages, but caught himself in time. Most probably, it didn't matter. He also felt a small suspicion that she actually didn't "need" better care in the normal sense – probably only in the sense that she wanted back in action quicker.

The orc scratched his massive chin.

"I assume you have a horse somewhere not very close by?" he asked.

"Stormwind," Thomas said, heart sinking again. Back then, he and his ex-friends had known that they were heading into the jungle. Raptors and the big felines of the area were bad enough when they did not smell a huge source of delicious meat.

He had probably seen that horse for the last time.

Both Dor'ash and Vo'don nodded.

Walking would take much too long, no question about it. And there was no way that the wyvern master would let a human ride one of his pets, the suggestion wasn't even worth hoping for.

"I doubt my wolf will carry a human," Dor'ash said. He looked at Vo'don. "Can you talk a raptor into...?"

But the troll shrugged and shook his head.

"Don't dink," he said. "Dey smart, dey nevah do what dey dun want."

"Hmm," Dor'ash muttered.

He remained silent for a moment, then looked at Thomas.

"How brave are you, paladin?"

* * *

It had a body. It had hooves. It had a head. It even had ears. What it did not have, however, was skin and, for the most part, muscles. The fact that it had a tail left did not make any sense at all, but that was the last thing on Thomas' mind.

"Light," he said in a faint voice. Without thinking he tried to raise a hand to his face, but with his wrists still tied up it became a clumsy wave instead.

Sarah slumped in the saddle, only after Dor'ash had lifted her into it. Just seeing her walk the few yards from the inn to her horse had been cringe worthy – each step a drawn out, mechanical twitch. Even her grabbing hold of the undead mount's reins looked twitchy and fumbling.

Thankfully she had donned a long robe and pulled up the hood to hide her burnt body, but now she turned her head and shot a weak sneer at the paladin.

"Come now, mister Southstone," she said. Until then, she had not spoken a word. Her voice sounded even dryer than before, and stiff lips formed around the sounds only reluctantly. Hearing what she said turned out to be an exercise in listening closely and guesswork. "It's not much different from a living horse, 'cept you've got less to sit on."

Thomas gave her the satisfaction of closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath to calm himself. He heard her chuckle briefly, but she cut it off to save whatever remained of her charred lungs. It helped to know that Vo'don and Dor'ash were beside him, allowing him time to adjust to the thought.

What did _not_ help was a large part of the base camp's early risers also standing by, watching with amused interest as a paladin got bullied into riding an undead monstrosity. Thomas tried to ignore them, and looked at Vo'don.

"I'm fine," Thomas said. Which wasn't true, but it would probably not get any better even if he waited longer.

Vo'don nodded, with a glint of empathy in his eye. Then, without warning, he stuck his hands under Thomas' armpits and straightened up in his full height. Seemingly without any trouble at all he hoisted the man into the air and set him down in the saddle behind Sarah.

It went so fast that Thomas was left blinking. Amazing really, how easy it was to forget how tall male trolls actually were. He sought for balance for a moment as Vo'don let him go. There really was a whole lot less to sit on, just as Sarah had said.

"My shoulder's fine," she mumbled. "Grab. Sissy."

Thomas squared his jaw and laid one of his bound hands on her shoulder. Try as he might he could not tell if there was anything except the robe between his palm and her bones – and he did not really want to know.

"Ey, be careful with 'im now, missy Nebula!" a hoarse voice called from the crowd, followed by mostly undead snickers.

"Rrr," was her only reply.

Thomas preferred to look anywhere but the person in front of him and the creature they were both sitting on. He caught Vo'don's eye, and the troll offered a blank half-smirk in support. Then a voice called his name, and he turned around.

Two female trolls approached, very similar in looks and with the same blue, rich hair – but that was the end of the similarities. One wore black and had a thin, dark bandana tied just above her eyes, as if she intended to use it as a blindfold. The two nasty-looking daggers in her belt only made it more obvious than needed what profession she held.

Her maybe-sister on the other hand dressed in easy, brown leather armor, but seemed to have left her weapon at home for the moment. Each one of them lead a raptor mount across the open area. As they got closer, Vo'don walked over to meet them. The three spoke – or rather, Vo'don and the maybe-sister spoke, while the rogue lady stood in silence and just watched. She only nodded when her companion smiled her final approval. Grinning, Vo'don looked around and waved at Rohdjinn and Dosha to come over. They approached, and accepted the raptors' reins when offered.

The younger trolls looked upon their borrowed use of transportation with no little sense of wonder. Dosha, especially, looked intently at the rogue to be certain of her approval. She, in turn, merely shrugged and gave her raptor a pat on the neck. Rohdjinn was already letting "his" raptor sniff at his hands while murmuring to it, making sure it knew he was friendly.

Vo'don had already moved on to a third troll stranger, this one male, leading yet another raptor. They spoke for a little while, then the other troll handed over the reins. After letting the raptor sniff at him, and softly hissing to the beast while rubbing its neck, Vo'don climbed into the saddle as easily as he took a step.

Thomas wondered at why the trolls apparently had not brought their own mounts, but refrained from asking.

As soon as Dor'ash moved up beside Sarah's horse, on a monstrously large wolf, they only had to wait for the two young trolls to sit up properly. Thomas grasped the shoulder he held even tighter as Sarah got the undead mount to start moving. It felt like riding a living horse, but at the same time not. The movements were familiar, yet mechanical. This horse would never sidestep or get other ideas of its own, because it had none.

But it was a means to get out of the camp, and flanked by Dor'ash and Vo'don, Sarah steered her mount towards and out the gate. The wolf, the raptor and the dead horse all moved in wildly different ways, but they set an even pace and continued briskly up the road. Focusing on trying to deal with his situation, Thomas stared straight ahead and only heard the heavy patter of the other two raptors following.

It did not take long until they reached the main road, and as soon as they did Vo'don called for a halt. The horse obediently slowed and trotted for a few steps to follow the other mounts, but Thomas suspected it could have stopped still anytime Sarah wanted it. If she had believed she could stay in the saddle.

Sliding to the ground, Vo'don drew the dagger Dor'ash had given him before going to fetch Sarah from the inn. At the troll's nod Thomas offered his hands, and the knife sliced the ropes binding him without cutting his skin. He massaged his sore wrists while Vo'don sheathed the weapon and returned to the saddle. As soon as Thomas placed his hands on Sarah's shoulders – still not too happily – the journey began anew.

They were silent at first, glad to be out of Grom'gol but wary of the environment. Yesterday remained fresh in mind. Vo'don and Dor'ash took turns riding in the front, one of them always flanking the horse. Thoughtful of the wounded, but they did not want this to look like a prisoner convoy.

Sarah especially was silent. That was another thing. She didn't even move or make a sound for drawing breath, no more than her horse did. Like a statue, and the hard shoulders Thomas held did not help that image. At least yesterday, she had been talking, although she had not said much that had not curled his skin.

It should have been a relief. Yet, knowing why she did not speak, and why she crouched in the saddle, touched a vein.

"Does it still hurt?" Thomas finally asked, unable to contain his grudging concern any longer.

She did not answer immediately, like she needed to collect some strength for it first. Then:

"Nah." Sarah paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, maybe. I think pain is different from how it used to be when I lived. But I don't know. I don't remember how it was to be alive."

Thomas wondered if that was to be counted as a curse or a blessing. As if she had heard his thoughts, Sarah spoke again.

"Ain't too bad," she said. "No memory's fine. Those who remember too much just wallow in self-pity all day."

"You really don't remember anything?" Thomas carefully said.

He couldn't help it. A morbid curiosity tugged at his mind.

The hood rustled as Sarah shook her head. From his vantage point he could only vaguely see the motion itself.

"Nuthin'," Sarah said. Then she added, more gruffly, "an' I like it that way. All I know is my name."

Her tone said that the discussion definitely was over, and Thomas decided not to try his luck. Just as he had settled for a silent journey, however, she suddenly let out a hoarse cackle.

"Oh, but this is so cute," she rasped, smirk audible in her voice. "A paladin sharing a horse with an undead and asking her personal questions. Is it the new troll man and night elf woman trend, I wonder?"

Riding beside them, Vo'don looked at Sarah with a frown. It probably did not help that Thomas made a strange noise – trying desperately not to laugh. He'd had no idea that that rumor existed within the Horde, too. The laughter uncertainly stuck in his throat at the sight of Vo'don's suspicious expression, however.

"Whatcha sayin'?" Vo'don demanded in Orcish. Difficult to tell how much he had understood of Sarah's words, but from the look on his face he must at least have caught "troll" and "night elf".

"Sarah…!" Dor'ash growled, throwing a glare over his shoulder.

She ignored his warning completely, and cackled out in translation what she had told Thomas in Common. For a moment Vo'don just stared at her. Then he leant forwards, chortling so hard it looked as if he would fall off his sprinting raptor. The beast itself threw its neck to the side and gave him an odd look. A call from behind let them know that Rohdjinn wanted to know what was so funny, but Vo'don just waved at him to wait.

Over Sarah's shoulder, Thomas saw Dor'ash shake his head while looking up the road.

"We don't speak with trolls about those rumors," Sarah grunted, smirking. It sounded as if she had meant to say that in a sing-song voice, but it came out like a series of wheezes and squeaks that made it difficult to tell what she was saying.

"And we don't speak with night elves about it," Thomas offered, the cheerfulness letting him forget that he did not feel like talking to night elves or humans for quite some time after yesterday.

"Oh mister 'Sodstone'," Sarah said, "there's only one single, Orcish word that can encompass my feelings right now. Kek."

One of her hands rose up over her shoulder, polished bone fingertip pointing at him.

"But," she said, smirk changing, "before you get too fond of me, don't forget that you owe me your life."

"Don't worry, she'll have to kill me before collecting that," Dor'ash called over his shoulder, snorting out a chuckle.

"Thank the Light," Thomas grunted, caught between a wince and an uncertain smile.

He settled on the wince when he heard Sarah murmur in her gritty, hoarse voice.

"It's on my to-do list…"

* * *

They made good time, stopping only to let the living mounts rest at the guarded camps set up by goblins along the way, to offer safety for travelers. As the day wore on and they got closer to Booty Bay, more and more people moved along the road. None caused them any trouble, although the sight of a human riding an undead horse with a Forsaken did draw glances from Horde, Alliance and goblins alike.

At one point Thomas took note of how Vo'don pulled Dor'ash aside and they muttered amongst themselves. Shortly thereafter Dor'ash sat cross-legged some ways away, leaning something against one knee and writing on whatever it was with a small, thin dagger more reminiscent of a scalpel. Sarah padded over to him and they spoke, until he swatted her aside. She retreated, snorting with laughter.

Later, when Thomas got his parting gift, he would understand. Right then, he left it unquestioned.

It was still between midday and evening when the jungle opened up before them and they saw the cliff separating Booty Bay from the mainland. Dismounting by the mouth of the guarded cave, they headed inside under the curious gazes of the bored bouncers. There were always a lot of people moving here, leaving and arriving, and the group stayed tightly together not to lose each other, or any valuables. It would be easier to count those who were _not_ pickpockets, here.

Several stables for mounts had been carved into side tunnels of the main road through the mountainside, to make use of the cool underground and save precious building space for housing in the town. Booty Bay's core construction, made up of stairs and bridges as it were, did not suit any beast large enough to be ridden.

Goblins who took their job very seriously guarded these hollows – air came in through barred holes in the walls, and only a very noticeable explosion would remove those iron bars.

While Vo'don and the others haggled with the stable guards as per goblin tradition, Thomas made a few inquiries with a couple of the small, green men.

The goblins were used to odd questions, and would answer them as long as a coin was involved. Thomas made sure that Edward and the others had not been seen in Booty Bay. It made sense, if they had wounded and feared poison they should have headed for either the rebel camp or Duskwood, any human settlement closer by than the distant port town. Still, no harm in making sure there wouldn't be any sudden arrows or daggers coming at Thomas or his Horde friends.

Of course, no telling if the goblins had been paid to lie – but then, not like they had reason to lie to somebody who could offer them yet another piece of silver, if they had already been bribed once. One did not make good business without being able to switch sides when it felt right.

Also, considering that the Horde-hunting humans had reason to raise a ruckus about a poisonous Forsaken and a traitorous paladin, they could not have entered any town silently. The elves might have wanted to remain mute about their failure, but their companions probably wouldn't bear the slight stoically.

What he found out, he reported to the others as they headed towards the exit. No such stories seemed to circulate, to general relief.

Not that the caverns were perfectly cool, but the sunlight outside momentarily blinded Thomas and stung his skin. Booty Bay was always loud, with voices and feet clattering against wood. After the long ride, it seemed a little overwhelming.

They broke free of the main stream of people heading in and out of the cave, and Dor'ash turned to the others.

"The two of us should go and find a healer," he said in Orcish, one big, green finger tapping Sarah's shoulder. She seemed to hunch even more after the shadows inside the cliff, as if the sunlight blasted her even harder now. "You go and see if that goblin ship is in port."

"Let's meet in an hour by da big stair, then," Vo'don agreed, nodding.

The group split, but Thomas threw a thoughtful glance over his shoulder, seeing Dor'ash and Sarah walk off. Her hunch made her smaller than before. He towered over her, walking slowly so she could keep up with him.

Why not carry her? Apart from that she might claw his eyes out. That didn't sound as likely to Thomas as it should have, though.

Then people got in the way, and the strange pair disappeared out of view. Shrugging, Thomas returned his focus to the wooden steps before him. He and the trolls headed towards the pier where the Maiden's Fancy could be found when docking in Booty Bay. Luck stayed with Thomas this time – the ship was in the harbor, bound for Ratchet in a couple of hours. The coins he had left covered the fare, and after haggling he had enough money left to leave him hope of finding a cheap sword once he got to the Barrens – where the prices were not set by the "hey pal, you've got an entire jungle between us and the next friendly settlement. Get my drift?". In the Barrens at least, one had the time to see the monsters coming in a distance.

Well there, it should not be difficult to find somebody who needed a few beast claws, or such, that they did not feel like collecting themselves. Simple, not quite honorable jobs, perhaps, but he needed to get some funds back before he could make it to Theramore.

With these vague plans in mind he stuffed his ticket into a really deep pocket – resting his hand over said pocket while following wherever Vo'don led next, to make sure the small but precious piece of paper would not be stolen.

The docks were always busy, but they managed to find a pier that was not completely overrun by people running back and forth to load or unload the ships. There they sat down to wait for a while before going to meet up with Dor'ash and Sarah. Although the midday heat had passed, the cooling breeze from the ocean felt sweet against Thomas' hot skin. He couldn't tell whether the trolls were at all concerned with the sun now, or even had been when it was at its worst.

Dosha slung her long legs over the side of the pier, dangling her four toes just above the waves. The only reason that at least Rohdjinn didn't do the same had to be the fact that his feet probably _would _reach the water if he did. Considering that the goblins and pretty much every other inhabitant of the town used the shore as a garbage dump, that did not seem like a pleasant idea.

It did not escape Thomas, the look on the young troll's face when Dosha rolled her shoulders and leant backwards in a cat-like – a _large_ cat – stretch. Neither the way she glanced and winked at Rohdjinn. The paladin caught Vo'don's eye, and he just threw his gaze upwards with a fond snort.

Few human teachers would look kindly upon their young apprentices having such interests for each other, but the raptor charmer just shrugged it off. Perhaps it really was simply natural in their culture. Thomas' first feeling was one of disbelief, but he pushed it aside – it was not his business, and if the two youngsters fancied each other they had certainly not let it cloud their ability to survive so far. It was one of those differences one had to face and accept when meeting other cultures. Moments like this told him that he still had to work on that, annoyingly enough.

The sun beat down on the town and the waves, carving deep shadows into the cliff sides and, in the distance, the huge statue of Baron Revilgaz with its arms stretched out and insincere grin aimed towards the open sea. Lazy sea birds floated through the humid winds, screeching only rarely. In that peaceful setting, Thomas listened with fascination and occasional interjections to aid in the struggle with the languages, as Vo'don told him about the distant Sen'jin village and how the trolls had made their lives in Durotar. Every now and then Dosha and Rohdjinn tried to help.

Without Dor'ash and Sarah as translators, the human and the trolls had to work their way through the language barrier on their own again. In a way, Thomas actually enjoyed that. It tested his own knowledge of Orcish as well as Vo'don's skill in Common, and no morbid jokes – well, at least not Sarah's level of morbid, trolls too had a taste for gallows humor – threatened the peace.

When they went to meet Dor'ash, they found him waiting by the stair to the town.

Alone, and with a troubled look on his face.

When questioned, he grunted and pointed up the stairs, addressing the trolls first. Thomas understood enough. She was gone, without goodbye. Even so, Dor'ash turned to the human and translated.

"I had to find a mage to make Sarah a portal to the Undercity. The healers we found here said they couldn't do much more for her." Dor'ash rolled his shoulders. "Serves me right for wanting to avoid that in the first place."

They started to slowly move down the docks while talking.

"Will she be alright?" Thomas asked. He did not realize until he had spoken, that he actually cared about what would happen to Sarah. The shaman's distracted scowl made him wonder if there was something more to this, too.

Dor'ash's lips stretched the tiniest bit. But when he spoke, the crease on his forehead remained.

"Probably, since she's still able to move and talk. The apothecaries don't seem to need much more to work with." He paused, then scratched his head. "The priests did say something about the process being 'centaur on the agony scale'."

"The what?" Thomas asked.

Dor'ash snorted.

"Sarah once claimed it was an in-joke," he said. "They judge how much something will hurt depending on what they wish to inflict on certain people. As far as I understand 'Arthas' is the highest."

"Not too surprising." Thomas could not decide whether to be amused or uneasy. "Centaurs are…?"

"They don't care much about centaurs."

"Ah."

Thomas remained silent for a brief time while Dor'ash and the trolls exchanged a few phrases. By the sound of it, the agony scale was not universally known. Rohdjinn did chortle, but Vo'don only grinned slightly with a frown, and Dosha looked like she was stuck between humor and suspicion.

Finally, the question that needed answer could no longer be held back.

"And humans are where on that scale?" Thomas asked.

"Just below the Scarlet Crusade. Which is just below the Scourge."

"Ah."

Letting out another grunt, Dor'ash shook his head.

"I don't like it. I don't like dumping her with the Apothecary Society, but her wounds are too severe for normal healing."

It sounded odd, like a confession straight from the shaman's gut. He had certainly not needed to say it, but it was almost painfully honest.

Vo'don's low growl said that he had both understood and agreed. Whether that meant that he did not like the Society, or worried about Sarah, remained unclear. Thomas felt that that may be one of the other things he should not dig deeper into.

While talking, they reached the dock where the Maiden's Fancy waited for the loading of the cargo hold to finish. Judging by the shrinking heaps of crates and barrels on the dock, it would not be long until she could set sail. Thomas looked up at the tightly bound sails, grateful that nobody asked why he simply did not seek out a mage willing to make him a portal to Darnassus. It might have saved him a lot of time, but he did not feel like trusting his luck – the elves in the jungle just may have gone home. There was no way to know that.

Aside from that, he currently did not feel friendly enough towards the elves to willingly drop right into an entire capital of them. Shaking off those thoughts, he turned to his companions.

"What will you do from here out?" he asked.

"Raptors," Vo'don said with a shrug and motion inland. "Not done here."

"You'll have to find a new place to hunt for them, no?" Thomas said, frowning.

But Vo'don just shook his head dismissively.

"No problem. Lots here."

Nodding, Thomas looked up at Dor'ash, who shrugged as well.

"I'll follow Vo'don and the kids back to Grom'gol and then take the zeppelin to Orgrimmar. Sarah will seek me out once she's restored." He gave Thomas a half-amused, half-sincere look. "Don't worry about us, paladin. You just make it to Dustwallow and onwards alive."

And don't let all this trouble we've had be for nothing.

Dor'ash probably did not mean it that way, but as a genuine wish for a safe trip. Still, Thomas took it to heart.

"I'll never forget what you've done for me," Thomas said – or at least, that was what he meant to say in Orcish. He knew that he did not quite get it right, but though Rohdjinn slightly smirked, the others nodded understanding.

"And 'bout dat," Vo'don said, cracking a grin as he reached for one of the bags on his belt and nodded at his apprentices. "Dem kids make in night. Here."

He produced a flat item adorned with feathers and familiar colors. Smiling widely in gratitude, Thomas held out his hand and accepted the gift.

This totem was a little larger than his old one, and turning it over he saw that it had more text on the backside than the one he lost in the jungle. Thomas squinted at the words for a moment before looking up – he recognized some of the text because it had been on the totem he lost, but not the new words.

"I can't read orcish runes very well yet," he admitted.

"Da same as old," Vo'don said, then pointed at Dosha and Rohdjinn. "Dem names too. And…" his big blue hand waggled in Dor'ash's direction.

"I wrote 'This human knows more honor than many of them', and my name as well," the orc said. Then he added, with a roll of his eyes, "Sarah wanted to sign it too, but I didn't let her since she admitted that she wanted to write 'dibs!' in Gutterspeak."

Thomas had to chuckle, remembering the brief exchange he had witnessed at one of the watch posts along the way.

"Well," he admitted, "she's sadly right, isn't she?"

"I'll do my best to keep her away from you," Dor'ash said, grinning.

"I am most grateful."

Carefully, Thomas stuck the totem into a pocket in his shirt, trying not to let the feathers get ruffled. Then he straightened up, looking between the four of them.

"Thank you. I don't have enough rings with the Silver Hand sigil for you all," he said. His smile faded momentarily. "To be honest I doubt Edward will rest until I'm excommunicated from the order."

Dor'ash absentmindedly translated that to the trolls, watching Thomas the entire time. Finishing, the orc slowly spoke Common again.

"And what arguments would he bring to Eitrigg's honor brother?"

It took a moment before that one clicked, because Thomas was not used to hearing that particular human called by such a name.

"Sir Fordring?" he said, then shook his head when Dor'ash nodded. "It is merely whispers, of him succeeding Uther Lightbringer. In either case, Edward can lie with more witnesses than I have." He wryly smiled. "Think nothing of it. If they no longer want me, I will still offer my services to Theramore."

Only later would he wonder if Dor'ash's not mentioning the near-legendary orc warrior by title, meant that they were friends.

Vo'don listened to the orc's new translation, opening his mouth to speak. But a cry from the Fancy, first in Orcish and then in Common, summoned all passengers to the ship with a warning about being left behind. Pushing aside whatever he had thought to say, the troll grabbed both of Thomas' hands and gave them a squeeze.

"Live. We meet again."

"I certainly hope so," Thomas said, smiling from his heart.

The paladin grasped each of the others' hands in turn, then stepped backwards towards the impatiently waiting ship.

"Aka'Magosh," he said, raising his hand in a final goodbye.

"Spirits go with you," Dor'ash replied.

They watched him board the ship. The sails fell free of their bonds, filling up with wind and the Fancy made its familiar, slow crescent move in the port before turning towards the open sea. More than one passenger had people standing on the dock to see them off, and nobody particularly cared about whom a human paladin may have been in company with – or who he waved goodbye to, and who waved back. Not in this mixed town.

The ship's slow twist brought Thomas out of their sight, and the crowd began to dissipate. The three trolls and the orc still stood for a little while, watching the vessel move further and further away with their strange little human friend.

"It's a long trip back ta Grom'gol," Vo'don finally said. "We bettah find an inn here for tonight."

Dor'ash just nodded, his gaze thoughtful. Figuring the orc would speak his mind when he felt like it, Vo'don turned. His hands rose and brushed Dosha's right shoulder and Rohdjinn's left as he passed between them.

"An' when we get home, you're getting a raptor mount each."

He walked on without looking back, leaving them staring after him with open-mouthed disbelief which soon turned to wide grins. Had they had any less pride, they would have literally bounded after him. As it were, they walked – although he could hear their feet against the wooden stairs with more pep than usual. Vo'don smiled to himself.

Good kids, and they had deserved their reward for putting up with all of this.

Dor'ash smirked, following the three of them up the dock.

It took a while to find an inn where the price was somewhat reasonable and they could put faith in getting a wink of sleep despite the vivid town life outside the walls. Once in their rooms, Dor'ash signaled at Vo'don that they should talk. Rohdjinn and Dosha cheerfully promised to stay in the inn and completely ignore the fascinating town all around them when Vo'don told them so. This was one jungle the teacher was not prepared to drop a couple of youngsters in just like that. Lucky that they still were high on his promise of their own mounts – they would have obeyed anyway, he knew, but probably not smiling.

He followed Dor'ash back out in the sunlight, and they moved to a shaded corner where they could have a talk in peace. They did not speak at all first. Neither of them needed to say anything, or gaze towards the ocean and the ship that could no longer be seen, to make themselves clear to each other.

Once they got back to Grom'gol, Vo'don would write a message to Vol'jin, for Dor'ash to bring along when he went to leave a report to the Warchief.

"Well," Dor'ash said after a moment, cracking a grin. "Shall we toss a coin about who gets to inform the goblin Baron about the angry Skullsplitters up north?"

Vo'don let out a frustrated grunt and shook his head.

"You ain't able ta grow new hands, mon."

"Eh. I'd like to see them try." Dor'ash jabbed his thumb towards the spiraling wooden bridges leading upwards between buildings. Revilgaz could seldom be found elsewhere than at some point up there. "Let's get it over with. He doesn't need to know the gritty details, like who caused it."

Although just to be sure, the orc lowered his voice considerably at the last part.

Vo'don rolled his shoulders and stretched his back with a sigh, peering at Dor'ash the entire time. Coming back down to eyelevel, he spoke.

"Dis be da kinda thing you keep dat skinny girl for, ain't it?"

"For tossing at angry goblins? Oh yeah." Dor'ash laughed as they started their climb. "She's easy to throw and she scratches like a wildcat."

Vo'don just shook his head, although he smirked at the idea of using a Forsaken like that. Yet in his mind, nobody set themselves on fire just to be nice – if Dor'ash chose to trust an undead, that was his business, but Vo'don would rather see the Horde free of them. His gratitude remained muddled with suspicion of any ulterior motive that woman might have.

* * *

While Thomas set off towards Kalimdor and whatever awaited him in Theramore, somebody else had already reached her destination.

In the depths of the Undercity, the light from a green torch flickered over Sarah's thin, blackened form. She laid on a metal table, one with leather restraints flopping down its sides at key places. She didn't move, even as an apothecary and a priest busied themselves with removing the last shreds of burnt cloth stuck in her skin. Philip Grayburrow stood beside her with notes in hand and speaking to another apothecary, who leaned his skeletal self on a staff.

It was a small room, one of many belonging to the Royal Apothecary Society. Tables cluttered with various tools and strange items stood in one corner, thanks to the torch casting very unpleasant shadows over the walls. The only thing more unpleasant than that were the strange odors fleeting in the air. It was impossible to tell whether they came from within the room or found their way inside from other places.

"… but it's better you ask her about the details," Philip concluded. "That orc of hers remained too close for me to ask her properly even when she was well enough to speak."

The listener looked down at Sarah's face.

"Unfortunate that you lost the bottle, I must say," he said.

Sarah lolled her head to the side, turning her hollow eye sockets at him.

"Forgive me, I feared that the elves would notice me doing something if I hadn't acted quickly," she said. "It would have spoiled my chances."

He nodded.

"Not too big a loss, considering the amusing results," he said.

"Thank you, master Faranell."

"Now, do tell about the details. You are sure that it was toxin 86b and not 86d?" The master apothecary held up a small, black bottle labeled with the latter name.

Sarah heaved herself up enough to nod, then flopped back.

"Absolutely certain," she said. "I failed to do much damage, but the scratches caused a brown discoloration of the specimens' blood. Also, it hurt like hell after I swallowed it. The following inability to move may have been only due to the fire, but I felt better after Philip gave me an antitoxin."

"Very good."

While the others spoke, the two men involved with cleaning up Sarah's body finished and stepped back. The apothecary went to fetch one of the smaller tables. Spindly metal tools rattled at his every step and when he set the small table beside the big one where Sarah laid. Then he and his companion stood by, waiting for a signal to continue.

Faranell sighed as he put away the bottle.

"I fear your guinea pigs probably survived, although they must have been in a fair amount of pain," he said. "And how did you explain to your orc and the trolls about having this poison at hand?" He obviously didn't care much about the human prisoner.

With a snort, Sarah's mouth twisted into a sneer.

"Dor'ash is a fool, and the trolls would believe him. He trusts that I keep a thing or two… for safety's sake," she said.

"Hmm…" Faranell pursed what little remained of his lips. "I don't really like that there's a shaman always following you around, Nebula. He will see too much one day."

Sarah wriggled her fingers dismissively. It took some effort, however – the burnt muscles had almost stiffened completely in the dry air.

"I assure you I will have no difficulties backstabbing him if need be, master Faranell," she said. "I joke so much about killing him that he can't believe I ever would do it."

"Listening in on them talking, I'd vouch for that we won't have to worry about that," Philip offered. "The orc expressed annoyance about her carrying around toxins, but let it slide almost immediately."

Sarah nodded approval, weakly scoffing. After a moment, Faranell shrugged.

"Fair enough," he said. "But you will answer to me if anything goes wrong."

"Certainly," Sarah agreed. "I take full responsibility for my pet orc."

The head apothecary was far beyond blinking, but after a moment he snickered at the pick of words. So did the other three men.

"Pet orc. I like the sound of that," the priest said. "Sounds useful."

"Expendable," Sarah corrected.

Faranell started to speak again, but a knock on the door cut him off. He turned around with an arguably surprised look. The others followed the motion, Sarah straining her head upwards just a little bit.

"Enter," Faranell called.

When the door opened, one could hear distant screams from other rooms in the area. An undead man draped in dark robes walked in, closely followed by a succubus with a curious look on her face. The warlock waved over his shoulder, and his tame demon kicked the door shut. What little, grey wisps remained of the man's hair fluttered around his sunken face in the draft.

At the sight of these two, Sarah fell back with a loud, annoyed grunt. This was ignored.

The warlock nodded at the head apothecary, while the succubus just hovered in the background. She looked at everything with increasing interest.

"Master Faranell," the warlock said in greeting.

"Ah, Nebula." Faranell motioned at Sarah without turning back to her. "Visiting the sick?"

"I just happened to hear about it and came down immediately, of course," the warlock said, nodding again.

"Didn't want to miss the screaming, eh?" Sarah dryly said.

The warlock stepped closer and bent over her.

"Arthas, you look horrible," he said.

"You're not exactly the picture of beauty yourself, Patrick."

He chortled and turned back to Faranell.

"Do you mind if I stay?" Patrick asked, although it didn't really sound like a question. "I would feel just _awful_ leaving her like this in your care."

"If you wish to," Faranell said. He turned towards his assistants. "I am satisfied with the answers I've gotten. Let us begin."

Philip bowed and left the room, while the other apothecary went to fetch a few vials and boxes which he set down on the tool table. The priest, meanwhile, bent over Sarah and began clasping the many straps fastened to the table she laid upon. Patrick moved aside to let the priest do his work, then stepped back and grasped Sarah's stiff hand in his bony one once her arm had been secured. She turned away at first, but then lolled her head at him again.

After a moment, she tapped a fingertip against his hand.

"Be silent," she said. "I still don't want to know anything and I never will."

He smiled coldly and stroke her cheek.

"I know," he said.

She pulled her hand back from his, but the restraints trapping her made it impossible to move away. He grasped her fingers once more.

"Don't worry," Patrick said, "I said I wouldn't tell you anything and I won't. I kept my promises even when we were alive, little sister."

Growling deep in her throat, she turned her face away from him. Faranell moved into her vision, twirling a scalpel between his fingers. He had set the staff aside, supporting himself on the table instead. Weak in body, perhaps, but determined to do the jobs that interested him.

"I'm a big girl," Sarah said. "Be honest, it's not centaur on the agony scale, is it?"

"Mmh… no," Faranell agreed. His assistants moved in the background, picking up the tools they anticipated he would soon ask for. One of them opened a metal box, and a sickeningly sweet whiff of raw, ripening meat added to the scents in the room. "I estimate that it's somewhere between gnoll and worgen."

"Feh. Well, getting here was Arugal, so it's looking better at least."

Nodding approval, Faranell bent over her and raised the scalpel.

In all honesty, even as Sarah was writhing under the knife, she felt grateful – it did distract her from the hand grasping hers, from that both known and unknown brother. Her fingers twisted mindlessly, clenching around Patrick's grip and she could have ripped her own hand off for it. He just stood there, unmoving, listening, watching.

In her own silent mind, she wished that her fingers could have curled around a big, green finger so thick she could hardly reach around it with one hand. Then maybe it would not have hurt so much.

But, for more reasons than one, it would have been too dangerous for Dor'ash to be there and see any of this.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: Well, if you've read _Diplomacy_, you already have an idea about what awaits Thomas, but there are some more things about this to come._

_Dor'ash and Vo'don are such busybodies, haha!_

Chapter five, Carried by Memories

The sail from Booty Bay to Ratchet may have been boring, but Thomas felt grateful for the lack of adventure on the high seas. When "uneventful" pretty much meant that he didn't have to fend off naga or murlocs climbing onto the deck in the middle of the night, he wasn't one to complain. No one in their right mind would.

It did also give him good time to plan what he would do once he got to Theramore.

From helping out on the ship with various little things that needed done – a lot of heavy lifting, as it were – he earned himself a place on the payroll. That money was to be paid out once they reached Ratchet. However, Thomas spoke with the captain about that, knowing that the ship's cargo included clothes manufactured in Booty Bay.

Back in the day, the goblins in Stranglethorn quickly picked up on the native trolls' use of the abundant wool flowers – a peculiar bloom much like cotton, which grew high up in the trees and could easily be spun to thread. The clothes made from it were tough and cheap – Thomas' own, one, remaining set of shirt and pants had definitely seen better days. The new clothes he managed to haggle with the captain cost a whole lot more than they should have, but it was money that he never saw, anyway. He was merely taken off the payroll again.

On the ship a truce existed between Horde and Alliance, being a neutral zone for anyone paying for the trip. Knowing what it meant to break that peace, the passengers kept to themselves and at most threw annoyed glances at anyone whose existence they found offensive. By the end of the long sail, however, people had gotten so used to each other that even the blood elf in the dark robe could walk past the night elf swordswoman without either of them trying to murder the other with their glare.

Thomas took note of these things, but he and everyone else knew that it would be back to the old ways the moment they stepped ashore.

Not so much with the crew. At one point Thomas watched with great fascination as the human first mate Mesker put both feet onto a tauren's hands and was hoisted upwards – with one of the goblins standing on the human's shoulders. All of this to reach a throwing dart stuck out of reach in the mast. Judging by their discussion leading up to this, they felt the circus act preferable to tossing a coin over who got to play monkey and climb.

There were more members of the Horde on the ship apart from that blood elf – the crew could not be called true to either faction, working for the goblins as they were. Yet, Thomas did not attempt to strike up conversation with any of the orcs or trolls at any time. A sense of paranoia stole over him the first day and refused to let him go. Just what if news of his "treason" reached Ratchet or Theramore before he did? Though he deeply loathed himself for his weakness, he let this fear control him and make him cautious.

For the entire trip he kept a low profile, pretending not to understand when the orcs stood within earshot and spoke with each other in Orcish. They ignored him too, as he left the most noticeable pieces of his armor in his room and appeared not as a paladin but just a traveler among others.

Still, he couldn't help wondering if there were people on the ship who knew Vo'don or any of the others.

Once they reached Ratchet, the passengers all split in all directions – most of them surely eager to forget sharing a vessel with their enemies. Thomas stayed and helped unload the cargo, however. For the pay he earned from that he got a room at an inn that was cheap, but not cheap enough to leave him in worry that he would be robbed. The money was enough to get him a new – cheap – sword, and still left him a few coins to get food for a few days.

In an unruly area such as this, with constant attacks from the beasts of the land, that made a decent start.

True that Thomas had earned himself a "Sir" title, but that was through the blessings of the Light. He too started out as a recruit once upon a time, and he was not too bothered by the following, rough days. They could have been much, much more unforgiving, considering.

Through odd jobs and some monster hunting in the sweltering landscape, he managed to build up a small amount of money again. A mix of hope and cynicism – enough money to bring him to Theramore, but also enough to bring him away from there again, if things did not work out.

It was with a great sense of anxiety that he finally put on his carefully cleaned and polished armor, and went to the harbor to assure himself a fare on the ship he knew would shortly sail to the city state on the edge of Dustwallow Marsh.

Travelling from Ratchet to Theramore by ship only took a few hours. Odd, then, that those hours seemed so much longer than the weeks spent on The Maiden's Fancy.

A thick, brownish mist blew in over the mountain tops towering between the sea and swamp as the ship sailed on, enshrouding the vessel. The sun reached down through it only with great effort, creating an odd, thick light to match the murky smell in the air. Thomas stood on the deck, gazing into the fog and as alert as anybody else onboard. Anything could hide out there under these conditions. Conversations ceased, everyone listening for any suspicious sound.

But there were only the waves and the creaking of the ship.

As they got closer to Theramore Isle, the wind bit by bit chased the mist away and they emerged unscathed into a more welcoming air. Yet the sky here was heavy with clouds, very unlike the unforgiving blue in the Barrens.

After the hot days in Ratchet, Thomas should have welcomed the cooler weather, but the smell of rain and grey heavens didn't manage to lift his spirits. Theramore looked downcast and sodden as he stepped off the ship and walked across the harbor to reach the city. It was no better within the walls. People walked carefully not to slip on the mud of the smaller roads and the slippery stones of the paved streets. It didn't rain now, but it obviously had during the night and more was coming.

Unease gripped Thomas' heart even harder, and he hurried towards the citadel. He wanted this over with.

* * *

It took several introductions to bring him where he wanted, first to a guard, then the clerk the guard sent him to, then another clerk who showed him the way deeper inside. It went in a blur, but finally Thomas found himself left in a comfortable waiting room with three other petitioners. All three of them looked a whole lot formal than he did, wearing official robes and sitting with rolled up documents in their laps.

Thomas didn't speak beyond the initial greeting. Past that he sat in one of the sofas, lost in thought while the other men occasionally exchanged a few phrases. Fruit and drink stood on a table in the center of the room, but Thomas had no appetite at all despite the hours that had passed since his breakfast.

One by one, the petitioners were called in. Two new ones had time to arrive before yet another clerk opened the door and announced that Lady Proudmoore would see Thomas. He wasn't sure how much time had passed by then, and it didn't matter. Taking in a deep breath he stood up and followed the clerk back into the corridor and through the looming doors leading to the throne room. Guards stood on both sides of the door, glancing at him only briefly as he entered.

The throne room was built in the same pale stone as the rest of the city, and tall windows let in the rain heavy light from outside. Although there was a throne, the leader of Theramore did not sit in it. She stood in front of it, hands easily folded against her back and a friendly smile on her lips. Her white dress looked rather stark against the blue, silver and gold flags adorning the walls, but that was not the first thing that struck a spectator.

Willpower alone kept Thomas from raising his eyebrows when he saw Lady Jaina in person for the first time. He had heard that she was a tall woman, but he had not quite believed those who claimed that she might be able to look a night elf man straight in the eye.

"Welcome to Theramore," she said as he stopped on the carpet.

Military training supported him as he automatically moved into a strict, straight pose as he saluted. It actually made him feel a little better, more familiar with the situation – although he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he should carry a helmet in his free hand.

"Thomas Southstone of the Silver Hand, my Lady." He bowed his head slightly, still saluting. "I'm deeply honored by you taking the time to see me."

Though honestly, he had no idea if he was still a member of the Silver Hand. Certainly not if Edward had made it back home by now, with witnesses. But since he wasn't sure, he clung to it as a precious way to distinguish himself.

"At ease, Sir Southstone," Lady Jaina said, in a warm voice. "Any member of the Alliance is always welcome here. What is it that you wish to tell me, paladin?"

Lowering his hand, Thomas took in a brief, steadying breath. He would only have this chance – if they would not have him here, he knew not where to go.

"I hail from Stormwind and have served the Silver Hand from there," he said. "However, I stand here today to ask you to accept my pledge of fealty to you and Theramore, my Lady."

A strange little smile grazed the Lady's lips. He took note of it even though she quickly hid her mouth behind her hand in a thoughtful gesture. Later, he would understand it, strange as it was. Right then, her words gave him no rest to be curious.

"Tell me, why do you wish to serve Theramore?" she said.

Thomas bowed his head briefly again.

"It pains me to say it, but I have come to question the sense of righteousness prevailing in the Eastern Kingdoms," he said. "It is quite a story, however, and I don't intend to intrude too much on your precious time."

She watched him with the same calm expression through this short speech, despite the fact that his words could be considered those of a turncoat.

"I have decided to take the time to hear your request," Lady Jaina said as he finished. "Speak freely and do not feel pressured."

"I thank you graciously."

The many long, calm hours on the ship had given Thomas ample time to plan how to put his story, and the intense few days in Ratchet had not dulled it. He left out nothing crucial, but spoke economically not to take up too much time and bore Lady Proudmoore. Odd, really, how the events in Un'goro that changed his life could be summed up in so few sentences. Stranglethorn felt so much more palpable, but that too seemed strangely brief when he spoke of it now.

"I understand if this is all hard to believe, my Lady," he finished. "I swear that it is all true, however."

"A strange tale, indeed," the Lady said, and he could have sworn that there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Not many people would readily admit to a story like that," she continued, the corner of her lips rising slightly. "Except when they talked about somebody else being a traitor."

Thomas' heart sank. Had there already been reports from those men and elves, in his disfavor? He had given them his name, and even if Thomas had not done so himself, Edward – with Martin in tow – would surely provide any information about the traitorous paladin.

But he squared his jaw.

"I stand by it, my Lady," he said, looking Jaina in the face. "Those trolls saved my life and the orc healed me. To just let them be killed would have violated everything I know about ethics and compassion. Although I shudder to think of it, I owe gratitude even to the Forsaken woman."

"I am glad to hear that. Although, perhaps I should rather offer pity when it comes to your debt to the Forsaken."

"Thank you, my Lady," Thomas said with a straight face.

"If you would serve Theramore, I gratefully accept your fealty," Lady Jaina said. "But I would ask you not to serve as a guardian of the city, Sir Southstone."

Thomas blinked.

"My Lady?"

Something that almost looked like a sense of amused mischief flew past on Lady Jaina's features. It was the look of somebody who knew something more than the person she spoke with did.

"I have heard that you can speak a little Orcish," she said. "Is this true?"

"Yes, my Lady, a little…"

Surprised as he was at this turn of the conversation, he did not at once remember that he had not mentioned his language skills to anybody ever since leaving Booty Bay. When he did recall this crucial detail a second later, he straightened up sharply.

"Pardon me, my Lady, who told you that?" he asked.

Her eyes twinkled.

"A reliable source," she said. "How well would you say that you can speak Orcish?"

Even though surprised, and unsure where this was heading, Thomas still managed to pull himself together.

"I understand far more than I can speak," he said. "What I can speak is pretty basic, but I got by with the mixed company in Stranglethorn. I would learn more if given the chance."

"That is far more than many would care to do, even here in Theramore," Lady Jaina said.

She paused for a moment, looking him over.

"I will be frank with you, Sir Southstone," she said. "I had already heard the tale you told me from two different sources. I fear that the Silver Hand wishes to question you about accusations brought forwards by a Sir Edward Twain and a handful of witnesses…"

Thomas pinched his eyes shut, feeling the muscles in his neck tense in knots.

"… however, I am satisfied with the blanks you have filled in, and I believe what you did was right. If you truly wish to serve Theramore, I will sort things out with the Hand for you." Her smile was not very pleasant, but it was not aimed at him.

The knotted nerves relaxed in an instant as he looked up, watching her with surprise and gratitude.

"That is far more than I could have hoped for, my Lady," he said, touching a fist to his chest. "I am more grateful than I can say, that you believe me."

"Think nothing of it," Lady Jaina said. She glanced at the high windows, shaking her head. "I thought that it sounded odd when I was given the report. They accuse you of aiding a group of trolls, orcs and Forsaken who attacked them in Stranglethorn and poisoned two of their number, both which survived but suffered terribly."

Thomas had to take in a deep breath to stay calm, but he felt sure that Lady Jaina must hear his teeth gritting. Her voice changed from thoughtful and regained that odd, amused edge as she continued.

"That would be their version of the story. Since I have heard another version from you and someone else, I feel inclined to believe those instead."

As she spoke of this second, unnamed source of information again, an image took shape in Thomas' mind. When it did, his clenched jaw relaxed in pure disbelief. Perhaps Jaina read the wonder on his face, because her eyes twinkled again.

"You have nothing to fear in Theramore, Sir Southstone," she said. "The Alliance are not the only ones who can provide witnesses, and Warchief Thrall is not amused at his people nearly getting murdered in an ambush." She showed off that unpleasant smile at empty space again, then turned back to him. "As I understood, neither does Vol'jin of the Darkspear tribe. I have yet to hear anything of what Lady Sylvanas has to say on the matter, but I believe we can disregard that."

"_I'll follow Vo'don and the kids back to Grom'gol and then take the zeppelin to Orgrimmar."_

_Those two…_

Realizing how far up Vo'don and Dor'ash had gone with their reports made Thomas feel faint. They had known he was going to Theramore, hell… Dor'ash had even suggested it. Had they actually…?

"Sir Southstone?"

Jaina's voice shook him out of his thoughts and he almost jumped. Pressing his fingertips against his forehead to compose himself, he faced her properly again.

"I beg pardon, my Lady," he said. "This is just a little bit overwhelming."

"I understand."

And he understood now, why she had that look of near-mischief hidden just beneath her calm expression – astounding though it was.

"You are welcome to serve Theramore, Sir Southstone," Lady Jaina continued. "However, there are already many soldiers in this city. What we do _not_ have is an official diplomat for relations with Orgrimmar. Considering your history, I feel that this position would be very suitable for you."

Thomas had not removed his fingers from his forehead, and now he pressed them down again before forcing himself to lower the hand and at least appear to be composed. It probably didn't work, but there was no judgment in the Lady's eyes as she watched him.

"You hardly know anything about me, my Lady…" he managed.

"When I received the message from the Silver Hand," she said, and she half smiled, half grinned, "it included a lament about how you possibly could have fallen so far after such a long, faithful service. Also, you do have impressive references."

For a brief moment Thomas thought that he would laugh hysterically at how bizarre all of this was. Luckily, the only thing that escaped him was a breathless chuckle – probably thanks to the words of the Hand being so bitter, even in the way that Lady Jaina played them against themselves.

She seemed to read something of the chaotic emotions in his face, because her smile softened and she returned to a business-like tone.

"I would give you a chance to speak for Theramore with the orcs, if you accept this task," she said. "From what I have heard so far, I have faith in that you could do it."

Taking in a deep breath, Thomas took a firm mental grasp of his mind and forced it to stop spinning. He clenched his fist and pressed it against his chest, bowing.

"I humbly and gratefully accept your offer, my Lady. I swear to do my outmost not to fail you."

Lady Jaina smiled, regally nodding her head.

"Then, you are hereby a citizen of Theramore and our official diplomat, Sir Southstone," she said. "The Warchief informed me that he would welcome a first meeting with his representative as soon as possible. I will suggest to him that it take place in Ratchet in a week, to give you time to prepare."

Straightening up, Thomas saluted again, struggling to hide the puzzlement at this talk of her meeting with the Warchief so often. True that it was said that they were friends still, but…

He shook it off. It was not his business, not even in his new position. He would deal with the official matters, not the unofficial ones. Although he dearly needed a while to sort all this out inside his mind, there was only one thing to say.

"As you wish, my Lady."


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue, Of Things to Come

Thomas gazed out one of the window in the room he had been given, hardly seeing the sprawling streets below, the soldiers and people illuminated by the reddening evening glow. He was busy still feeling quite amazed at how things had developed. The sudden shift in his life still seemed dizzying, although he had now gotten several hours to sort out his thoughts – but he felt no fear of the responsibilities thrown into his lap. Only a hint of nervousness when he wondered how the first meetings with the orcish representative would go. As soon as that went well, everyone should know where they stood – including him.

It should not be too difficult to get a hold of Vo'don and the others and thank them properly for all they had done. They had helped him with far more than he had known when saying goodbye in Booty Bay, and more than he ever could have asked.

He had to get a hold of Collins somehow, too. The rogue would have a ball with the story of what happened in Stranglethorn, and he too had spoken about what happened way back in Un'goro last time he met with Thomas. The thought made the paladin-turned-emissary chuckle to himself.

A knock on the door broke Thomas' line of thought, and he turned around.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a soldier wearing the typical silver and gold Theramore uniform entered. At first Thomas could not quite tell the age of the man, but finally realized that the soldier could not be much older than he himself was – perhaps even a couple of years younger. Yet, something about the look in this man's eyes made him seem beyond his days, and there were hints of grey in the hair growing just above his ears. In his hand was a heap of papers, and he saluted with his other hand.

"Simon Nebula, reporting for duty, Sir," he introduced himself. "I will be accompanying you to Ratchet for the first meeting with the orc representative next week."

"At ease." Thomas smiled in greeting, but could hardly keep from frowning. Something pecked at his mind.

Simon took the papers in both hands and politely offered them.

"As per your request, Sir, here are reports of the current peaceful activities between Theramore and the Horde. I thought I would bring them to you myself since we will be working together."

"Thank you. I assume that there are a whole lot more on the negative aspects," Thomas said with a sigh and took the bundle of reports. Still, that was quite an amount to read. More than he would have thought.

Simon's lips twitched.

"Very true, Sir, and an awful lot of that in there too." He pointed at the papers.

"I see I have quite some homework then." The joke was distracted, however. Thomas put his thumb at the edge of the heap and bent the papers so that they flipped past, kept somewhat apart by his finger. A few words flew by under his gaze several times, such as _fish_, _crops_, _Ratchet_ and _Brackenwall_. The texts appeared to mainly be about what little trade was still kept up.

Even as he did this, there was still something else on Thomas' mind. Something bothered him, and he couldn't quite-

"Lady Proudmoore also asked me to inform you this," Simon helpfully added, looking at Thomas with some curiosity, "we just received word that the orc representative for the first meeting would be a shaman named Dor'ash Coldbane, Sir. If you don't mind me asking, the Lady gave me the idea that he would attend the meeting because you had met him before?"

Thomas could not help chuckling a little, furthering Simon's curious look. Although the paladin's first thought was one of wonder at how this news could have made it so quickly, he next thought of Lady Proudmoore's easy talk of speaking with the Warchief.

What a strange city-state this was, when it got down to it. Or rather, its leader was something else.

"I see," Thomas said, more to himself than to Simon. He looked up at the soldier. "Yes, we have met, although I did not have time to learn to know him very well."

Turning towards the desk, he was about to add "Neither him nor his bony friend, luckily", but the puzzle piece slammed in place into his brain and his eyes widened.

_Light, no. Couldn't be…_

He clenched his teeth to keep from looking up sharply at Simon. Instead, he dropped the papers on the desk in the corner of the room and turned around, forcing a relaxed look.

"It's quite a story," he said. "Perhaps I can tell you on the trip to Ratchet."

Simon nodded.

"I'll look forwards to it, Sir," he said. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Nothing else for now, I believe," Thomas said.

He hesitated, pressing his thumb and pointing finger to his chin in a thoughtful look to win another moment to think. No, it was too cruel to be so. Too much of a coincidence.

But he had to know for sure.

"Although, excuse me…" he said, slowly, dreading the answer he sought. "You have a rather unusual last name, I must say."

"An ancestor of mine was an astronomer. We were only farmers, though." Simon frowned a little. "Pardon me, Sir, it is a strange question…?"

Thomas quickly shook his head and thought very fast.

"Yes, of course. It only struck me because I once knew a woman named Samantha Nebula."

"I see." Simon's lips scrunched up in a bitter smile. "Not a relative, as far as I know. Though I did have an older sister named Sarah." He suddenly looked very old, eyes haggard.

A cold hand grasped Thomas' heart and squeezed.

"I see…" he heard himself say.

"Yes." Simon looked away, rubbing his chin intensively. "The Plague took her and everyone else, though." There was a certain look in his eye however, one Thomas had seen many times before – when soldiers heard of dead comrades and dully murmured _I hope it was quick._ But Simon's eyes rather said _At least I hope it was the Plague and not the Scourge._ One reached that point, when the guilt of being left alive could only be quelled by the hope that they died a less gruesome death. Either way, he had to live with the knowledge that they may very well have been dragged out of their graves – if they even ever got a funeral – as abominations under the Lich King.

"I'm… very sorry to hear that." Thomas swallowed hard. "I apologize for bringing up such painful memories."

Simon tried to smile a little.

"You could not know that, Sir. Thank you for your concern." The smile failed, but his tone made it clear that he honestly appreciated the condolences.

They exchanged some distracted goodbyes, and then Simon left.

Once alone Thomas leaned against his desk, pressing a hand to his forehead. That the world could be so cruel, it seemed too much. Had Simon been spared the Plague because he joined the military before it hit, then fled with Lady Proudmoore to Kalimdor? Most probably, for such was the general story. Then he must have survived the battle on mount Hyjal, fighting for his own, his friends and all the people of the world's lives against the undead abominations led by the demon Archimonde. And lived with the knowledge that the Scourge may have slaughtered his family, if they did not die in the Plague. Either way, his own family could have been among those monsters on Hyjal, for all he knew.

Learning to smile again must have taken years, the pain in his eyes upon speaking of the dead relatives-

Try as he might, Thomas could not tell if there were any similarities in Simon and Sarah's appearances – her face was too sunken and gone, and he had tried not to look too closely at her. It still seemed too much of a coincidence… but the family name could not be so common.

Whether true or not, he had no intention to tell Simon that his sister might be a servant of Lady Sylvanas. No matter how at ease Sarah seemed about herself.

A second realization hit, and he almost fell onto the chair by the desk, fumbling for a pencil and paper.

It seemed reasonable that Dor'ash would not take the risk of muddling a friendly conference by bringing an undead along, but this was not something Thomas could leave to chance.

His occupation as a diplomat certainly took on a grim start. The future might hold brighter things, among all the hard work he already expected, but right then he could not think of anything positive.

* * *

_Author's note: Gracious foreshadowing, ahoy._

_This story isn't quite finished yet, actually, there's still an appendix to go. As indicated by this epilogue and things in the story, there will be a lot more to come about this crew of characters._


	7. Appendix chapter

Appendix

The sun was just nearing its highest peak above the Barrens. It was a lazy time, when most of the inhabitants from raptors to orcs preferred not to get involved in anything too violent, because the heat could take the edge off of any fighting spirit.

Many small farms littered the land, but always with a watch tower within sight. The countryside was vast, if not perfect for growing crops, but good for the orc families who raised pigs and hunted. A considerable part of Durotar's main source of food came from here.

Dust rose up around the horse's hooves as it came down the road from the east. Neither it nor its rider cared one bit about the heat. All they might feel, if out in the sun for too long, would be a stiffness of muscles and, in the case of the rider, an inability to speak properly due to her mouth drying up. That would be a problem if she had to fight of course, but for the time being she didn't care much.

Forsaken never rest. They never sleep. Sarah's thoughts were as alert as any other time, unconcerned with the stifling heat that made living creatures lazy and slow. Her mind had to be sharp, like all other Forsaken. Having thoughts constantly running through her head was the only way to drown out the dark whisper in the depths of her soul. It never fell silent, calling insistently. One had to just learn to ignore it, and its promise of power and glory for the Scourge.

Although she didn't remember "life" as a mindless slave, she certainly had no desire to try it again. But neither did she want that unknown life she had once lived.

Blast Patrick to hell. Yet, he served a purpose for the moment. Thoughts of him and everything he might know about her past worked excellently to overwhelm the Lich King's murmur.

Where others saw amnesia as a curse and sought a cure, Sarah counted it as a blessing. The power of having no memory gave her the strength to sneer at all those Forsaken who bitterly dwelled on their memories, who could do nothing but eternally seek revenge on those that had cast them aside after death. No thirst for dark justice bound her every action, she did not crouch in the shadows planning the painful death of somebody who had slighted her, or swore for hours when her prey managed to get away.

The one person from the past whom she did hate with a passion was the Lich King, but there was no way she could raise her hands towards him until that time when all of the Forsaken could make their move against the Scourge. In fact, the hate felt more arbitrary than anything else. She certainly did want him dead no less than any of her brethren, but for now and nobody knew how long he remained as untouchable as a god. It was like hating a raincloud. His incessant whisper deep inside her mind remained a small annoyance, but easily forgotten if she only kept herself busy.

As far as Sarah was concerned, her life began when she crawled out of her grave, weak as a kitten and utterly lost. With no experiences to draw from she had only felt uneasy confusion, but not fear, when several skeletal, rotting creatures surrounded her and brought her down into Deathknell. She could not remember that things had ever been different, and thus the other Forsaken simply appeared to be the way of the world to her. Only later and with some assistance did the truth "come back".

But she was born a Forsaken, and there was nothing else inside her head except a thirst for freedom and the road – that wish for freedom had to be what allowed her to break free of the Lich King in the first place, and remain herself ever since. Probably. She could not tell if that was true, and it didn't matter. It kept her safe from him now, and hopefully for many more years to come.

Curiosity made her press on and leap into battle, not bitterness.

That was why she despised Patrick, so much that it was the closest to fear she could experience. He knew the past that had let her go, and a nagging feeling told Sarah that whatever he could tell her, he would gladly share one day just to see what it did to her.

She didn't want to know. She didn't like the way he smiled.

"_Who would have thought little Sarah could be a mage?"_

That much he had let drop the first time they met, before she shouted at him to shut up. It had told her enough, far more than she wanted to know.

She had been weak.

How weak? Weak enough to, if she remembered, crash in her merry arsonist skip through the world, to suddenly look at all the things she had done in the last few years and scream and scream and scream in horror?

Patrick knew, and smiled at her.

The thing was also, that he was the one saying they were brother and sister. For all she knew he could be her second cousin twice removed. Yet, nobody else could or cared to dispute what he said, and he did look familiar to her. She just didn't know for sure, and as much as she was fine with that, uncertainty nagged her every now and then.

The road led up a slight slope, and she shook herself out of those thoughts as the horse plodded up on higher ground. A small hamlet – more like a few sporadically placed farms – laid before her. The houses were of clay with red rooftops, built mostly in octagonal shapes in typical orc fashion. Sturdy fences surrounded the homesteads and several watch towers loomed nearby, but the houses themselves were not adorned with as many spikes as those in Orgrimmar or Razor Hill. This was a peaceful community – as peaceful as it got. Anybody starting trouble with these farmers would have to deal with the same kind of orcs as anywhere else. The kind that hit hard and brutal.

The inhabitants proudly called it Drakamash Village in honor of the Warchief's mother, despite the fact that their home was so small that it didn't appear on most maps. The name was mostly due to several members of the Frostwolf clan being in the original group of defenders, when the farms were first founded.

Perhaps it was a little pretentious to choose a name like that, but they had it and nobody seemed to mind.

Sarah didn't care, apart from the Frostwolf clan bit. She rode down the road, passed the first watch tower after a brief discussion with the grunts stationed there. But they knew her by now, and where she was headed. Continuing was no problem.

Her goal lay near the "heart" of the village, as it were. Just another farm among the others – fenced in, with only a house, a barn and a shed, all matching each other. Tough vegetables struggled under the sun in a large patch beside the house, and pigs sleepily grunted.

She hopped off her horse and opened the wooden gate. The fence held the pigs in, and most scavengers out, unless they could climb. Without a word or sign from her, the skeletal horse trotted inside and she closed the gate behind it. When she waved at it, her mount continued on along the fence, as far away from the main building as possible.

A few fat, brown pigs lazily gazed at her from the shadow of their barn, but made no move to get up and look closer. Same with the huge, familiar wolf mount slouching by the door of the house. He just swept his tail against the ground in greeting when he noticed her.

None of the inhabitants of the farm seemed to be outside, or at least not within first sight. A pleasant smell of meat stew hung in the air, although Sarah could feel it only very faintly.

The widow was cooking in her kitchen and all was well on her farm. Heh.

A thwack and clattering sound came from behind the main building, and Sarah's lips curled into a smirk. She left her horse to its own devices and ducked around the rounded, spiky house.

Standing in the shadow of the wall of the woodshed, sweat matting his bare back, Dor'ash picked up another piece of wood and placed it on the chopping block before him. One swing of the axe sent two halves clattering to the ground and he bent down to collect them. Uncut slabs of wood laid piled in a heap to his right, more easily handled, hacked up pieces on his left.

She had seen this before in the past, many times, but that man had not had green skin or looked like a mountain of muscles. It ran off her, because she mentally doused the feeling with molten lava.

"I die a little bit inside every time I see you like this." Letting out an annoyed groan, Sarah stepped forwards.

"Grema says she likes it better if I work without my shirt on," Dor'ash said without looking up. Not a sound of surprise at her arrival. He had probably heard it days ago from the voices in his head.

"Oh please, don't make me puke," she groaned. "You'd regret it."

Dor'ash hacked the axe stuck in the chopping block and turned to Sarah. One fist at his side, he looked her over.

"Took them long enough," he said. "How are you?"

Chortling softly, Sarah pushed the hood back and moved closer to let him have a better look. After a lot of – uncomfortable and drawn out – work, the combined forces of the apothecaries and the priest had patched her back up. They had literally replaced the burnt sinew and skin. Although, she knew she was a fair bit lighter, since they had only cared about the most vital parts. The rest had simply been cut off and discarded.

And then the days on end she had to spend "recovering", letting the dark magic of her very being absorb the new muscles as her own. Skulking in the shadows of the Undercity, stiffly dodging Patrick's amused gaze. She never could shake the feeling that he always knew exactly where she was. Now she successfully shook off those thoughts.

"I can move and talk properly again," she said, pulling up her sleeve to show him the new flesh that had replaced the destroyed. "That's enough."

And that was all she meant to tell him about the process. Luckily, he nodded in satisfaction.

"Good," he said, "having you stiff as a board was pretty annoying."

"Bah!" Sarah threw out her arms. "Speak for yourself. You didn't have to live it!"

"Aw, but wouldn't you have looked even scarier if they kept some charred parts?" came another female voice, causing both of them to look up.

An orc woman grinned at them, big hands at her hips as she studied Sarah. A few black strands had come free of her braid and fluttered around her face and shoulders.

"I thought about that, actually, but they said it's enough that I already frighten small children," Sarah said, sneering right back at her.

"Just children?" The woman, Grema, walked closer while tilting her head. She stopped before Sarah, bending forwards to get to the same eye level. "And I heard you scared the crap outta some big bad humans and elves."

When Dor'ash stood beside another orc, his heritage became more apparent. Grema's skin was a rich green, while his had a bluish tint. They were not of the same clan, but that didn't matter.

"Shh!" Sarah pressed a finger to her thin lips. "Don't tell my superiors that I've been taking lessons from a bogeyman." She made a not too subtle motion in Dor'ash's direction, earning an amused grunt of protest against this new title.

For a second Sarah sneered at him, but when she turned back to Grema, the orc woman's grin had softened.

"Thank you," Grema said, touching the undead's shoulder.

"Stop that, you're going to cook with that thing." Sarah shrugged the big, green hand away, but her smirk was not only scornful.

"Naw, the stew's boiling along on its own right now. I have time to clean up."

Despite saying so, she absentmindedly brushed her hand clean – against Dor'ash's pant leg. He didn't seem to mind at all.

Sarah would have rolled her eyes if she'd had any.

"Speaking of which," Dor'ash said, grinning around one tusk. "I reported what happened in Stranglethorn to the Warchief. It seems he told Lady Proudmoore in Theramore about it, and when Thomas made it there she set him up as a diplomat of sorts."

"Aww, our baby is all grown up!" Sarah cooed, clasping her hands over the part of her chest where her heart might or might not be.

"About that…" Dor'ash said, and a strange look flashed past in his eyes, "the Warchief asked me to represent the orcs on the first meeting between us and Theramore's new emissary, since I already knew him."

"Oh, really…"

Sarah tapped her chin, peering up at Dor'ash's green face.

"And you don't think that bringing your smelly pet along is a good idea, in case she makes a mess on the red carpet, do you?"

"Exactly."

"Pff. You don't have to look so guilty, I ain't crying my eyes out. For obvious reasons, of course. You meeting in Ratchet or what?"

Strangely, Dor'ash looked a little bit more relieved than seemed necessary. She discarded it. Probably just worried about letting his beloved Warchief down. Grema said nothing, only watched the two of them.

"Yes, in a couple of days," Dor'ash said. "I was thinking of leaving tomorrow."

"Just my luck, can't catch a break." Sarah threw up her hands, sighing dramatically. "Fine, I'll camp in the Crossroads until you've stopped playing with the paladin. Ah yes…"

She shook her backpack down her arm and pulled it open.

"I've got something for you." Saying so, Sarah plunged her arm into the bag and dug around in it for a while, under the curious gaze of the two orcs.

Finally she drew out a small item carefully wrapped in a grey cloth. With her tweezers-like fingertips she unwrapped the packing, revealing a small, clear vial filled with an oddly colored liquid. It looked green one moment, but when the light shifted it rather seemed to be bluish.

Grinning, she offered it to Dor'ash.

"Here," she said.

"What is this?" he asked, holding out his hand so that she could place the cloth and vial in his palm.

"You said that you didn't want to worry about my bottles breaking and leaking all over," Sarah said. She carefully tapped a fingertip against the glass, creating a soft _tink-tink-tink_. "This won't counter everything we've currently got, but it's strong enough to at least slow down almost anything."

He looked at her for a moment. So did Grema, raising her fleshy eyebrows.

"That," Dor'ash eventually said, "somehow sounds less reassuring than it should."

"I know. And it cost me my right leg, so be grateful."

It was all he got, coupled with a sweet smile. Truth to be told the potent antidote had drained a painful amount of gold from her savings, but he didn't need to know such useless things.

Slowly nodding, Dor'ash wrapped the vial in the cloth again.

"Also, don't drink it concentrated," Sarah added as an afterthought. "Mix two drops in a cup of water and dab it on a wound. That's a me-sized cup, not a you-sized."

"And if that, spirits forbid, isn't enough?" Dor'ash asked.

"Then you drink it." She flashed most of her teeth. "And it tastes so bad it makes us undead throw up."

In the thoughtful pause, Dor'ash studied the small package he held. Grema didn't comment, but her expression wavered between amused and disturbed.

"No," Sarah said in earnest. "You do _not_ want to know what's in it."

"Why do I have a feeling that this is one of those things that are going to come back and bite both of us someplace where the sun doesn't shine?" Dor'ash commented.

"Do you want it or not?" she asked in a huff, hands on her thin hips.

"Yes, yes." He gave her a slanted smile, rapping the back of two fingers against her arm. "Thank you."

"Much better." She turned around and started to walk away, while hoisting the backpack onto her back again. "Now… suppose I ought to scare the kid, since I'm here."

"Tell my pup that the food will be ready in half an hour, if you're going to go tease him," Grema said.

The only reply was a bony hand waving above Sarah's shoulder. She disappeared around the corner.

Silence settled between the two orcs.

"I want to tell her, sort of," Dor'ash finally muttered.

Grema watched him for a moment.

"But then, we might have to clean up after a killing spree," she said. "And it would be very, very messy."

"Indeed… they tend to not take living family lightly. But she… wouldn't. Probably."

He stared blankly in the direction where Sarah had gone, until Grema slapped his shoulder.

"Be a sha_man_," she said, nearly stabbing his nose with her finger. "Tell her when the spirits say so."

"I don't think the spirits dare trying to understand her," he said, shaking his head.

Slowly, Grema nodded. What a pet they had.

Dor'ash looked down at the small package in his hand.

It had been one of those extremely rare moments – apart from when she did something drastic to save his life or protect him – that Sarah showed something else than smug disinterest and morbid amusement, and actually seemed to care. Of course, he always believed she did care, just chose not to let anyone see it. Otherwise he wouldn't trust her like he did.

A shared sense of humor alone does not a successful team make.

Although sometimes he did wonder if he knew her at all. The wish to tell her about this Simon Nebula, whom Thomas had met, returned in full force. Still Dor'ash kept his peace.

He honestly didn't know how Sarah would react.

* * *

Sarah shook her head at the world at large as soon as she was out of sight.

Bah.

She wasn't jealous of Grema, that wasn't it. She had her own "lover" of sorts in another Forsaken mage, Jonathan Schiller. She could never love Dor'ash like that, either. Her being dead was only one of the reasons.

Dor'ash meant something wildly different to her. Yet, he probably wasn't ready to hear the truth about that, yet. And he wouldn't like it when she eventually had to tell him.

Just… bah.

The one thing she never made a joke about was that she ought to kill Grema for taking Dor'ash away from his pet owner. He wouldn't laugh at that.

Even if he knew Sarah didn't mean that threat honestly, either.

She pushed the thoughts aside as she laid eyes upon the barn, and a smirk tugged at her lips as she walked closer.

The sunlight just barely reached the figure inside, revealing his green skin, the simple tunic, and the thick, black braid dangling down between his mighty shoulder blades. He stood leaning over the fence to one of the smaller animal boxes of the large pigsty.

"The pet zombie of the man taking your mother away from you has returned," Sarah said as she entered.

Karg turned and gave her a dark look. He was still young, going on his sixteenth year. Two more years until he could serve the Horde.

Two more years until Dor'ash would give up travelling for Grema's sake. At most.

How old can Forsaken become? Impossible to tell, and when they "aged", it wasn't like the living. The living had the blessing of simply dying.

"She shouldn't have to be alone out here," Karg said through his fangs, and splattered water on the nearest pigs rather than filled their trough. They hoarsely squealed and fled, snorting in anger.

"Very mature stance, that," Sarah said. She leaned her arms on the fence and looked at the pigs inside of the closed off area. The smarter ones chose to recoil. "I take it he talked about your training again."

Snarling, Karg flung the bucket at a corner and stomped towards the barn door.

"That's not mature," Sarah muttered. She turned to follow him, snatching up the discarded pail as she went.

And she tried hard to ignore the fuzzy sense of déjà vu when she walked out into the blast of sunlight, heavy bucket in hand. The farm was full of those senses of familiarity. Not a difficult riddle to solve, the reason for that. Farmer girl. Luckily, any and all solid memories stayed away.

Hearing her approach, Karg turned and accepted the bucket back without a word. Together they headed for the well. Glancing around to make sure that neither his mother nor Dor'ash were nearby, the young orc muttered to the small woman walking beside him.

"He wants to make me something I'm not, that's all."

_I'm fairly sure his exact words were "Your father was an honorable grunt. There's nothing wrong with following in his footsteps and I won't hinder you if that is what you wish. Still, I know that you have a potential that should not be wasted."_

Sarah just shrugged, watching Karg fasten the bucket on the rope and lower it into the well. After a few moments there was a soft splash, and he easily hauled the large container upwards again. It looked like light work for his trunk-like arms, with their thick veins – as if somebody had sewn ropes into his skin. To him, it probably wasn't much of an effort to pull the bucket back up.

She shook off another whisper of a memory she could not grasp, didn't want to grasp.

By Arthas, she hated this place. In a way. It was difficult though, sometimes.

"Well, you know," she said, folding her arms and tilting her head. "I'm the one who will have to carry you around. I'd like you to be able to cast a healing spell or two."

His eyes darkened again.

"I won't need your help," he said.

Snorting, Sarah looked at the upper side of her hands and polished the bits that would have been nails against her robe.

"Did Dor'ash admit what happened in Stranglethorn, yet?" she asked.

He just grunted, proving that he had been told the story. And the fact that he did not say that they should never have run away like cowards, but fought the hopeless combat to the death by arrows – that said that he thought not like a single-minded grunt, but as the warrior who wanted to survive, not necessarily go down fighting a battle that held neither hope nor glory. As such, he was a product of the young Warchief's hope for his people – and, perhaps, truly what Dor'ash hoped of the boy.

Yet Karg honored the memory of his father, and Dor'ash had not gone on a courtship hunt with Grema. They were not family, yet. The boy was not ready to dare see himself as something else than a warrior, and training a shaman required commitment and time that Dor'ash just could not settle on right now. He still had things to finish for the Horde, for his clan.

_But he looked at me, just like that, even before Stranglethorn, and said "I ought to stop going into dangerous areas. I want to come back alive." And I called him a wimp, didn't I? And he almost got killed by goddamn humans and elves._

Sarah looked down at her arms. The memory of the pain and the maddening inability to move remained fresh in mind. Setting herself on fire had to be the most insane thing she had ever done. More than one person in the Undercity had asked her why. She could have gotten away otherwise if she had just tried.

To scare the crap out of a bunch of Alliance assholes, of course. That was an explanation that worked. Insane, but amusing.

For Sylvanas, for the Horde?

But what did they care about one or five lives lost, in the greater scheme of things?

No. For herself, and… yes, for Dor'ash.

She grimly smiled to herself.

* * *

Nighttime swept a pleasant coolness over the Barrens, and the village. Not that Sarah could enjoy that anymore than she suffered from the heat. Midnight found her lying on the floor inside the house, curled by the fireplace and staring into the sleepily glowing embers. All was dark apart from that, just a little bit of moonlight creeping inside through the smoke hole in the wall.

Now and again a nocturnal bird cawed outside, or some other creature howled in a distance.

And all three of the orcs snored. She rolled over on her back and gazed upwards at the second floor where they slept – a thing of the living.

_I don't need these people. They don't mean anything to me. I can walk away from Dor'ash whenever I want and never look back even if he's hanging on the edge of a cliff._

Often, probably too often, Sarah told herself that she only followed Dor'ash around because she just had to see what he would do and say next. Someday he would bore her.

She kept mentally insisting that, pointedly not allowing herself to think about how she lied to both him and the Royal Apothecary Society to protect Dor'ash from their suspicion.

_I can quit whenever I want._

Except deep down she knew that "whenever I want" would only be by Dor'ash's last breath, and depending on how it happened she _would_ have bitter wishes of revenge driving her from that moment on.

She was not as free as she wanted to believe. Claiming anything else was a lie.

No… she could never quit. She pressed a thin hand to her face, pursing her mouth.

_And he looked at me, just like that, and said "I'm getting too old-" _

"_Ripe." _

"… _Right. Anyway." Eyes, eyes, eyes, voice. "When I stop travelling, will you watch over Karg instead?"_

_And I snorted but he knew I would, knew, knew. _

Forsaken don't know how long their "lives" are, and old age means feebleness of mind. Losing themselves, not being able to think loud enough to drown the Lich King's whisper, until his will becomes the stronger again. There's only one thing to do with those who start faltering beyond hope. When that time came, she didn't want Karg to be the one who put her out of her misery.

But, if she travelled with Karg when it began, he could at least bring her back to Dor'ash. She could live with that knowledge.

Claiming that she didn't need the orc shaman was the biggest lie of them all.

It wasn't love – she did have Jonathan, but she wouldn't have him save her when she no longer could fend off the Lich King's mental control. She wouldn't allow anybody but Dor'ash to do that.

Because, well…

She was his pet zombie, now wasn't she?

The End.

* * *

_Author's note: Thus ends _Remembering Grey_. This story serves a double purpose in connecting my OCs and to set the scene for their future endeavors – or misadventures in the case of Dor'ash and Sarah. I swear they're under a curse. _

_So, let's see… where is Collins, where is Shana, what is Patrick up to, will Sarah and Simon meet, what extremity__ is Vo'don going to have to hack off next- er__r, maybe not the last one. Also he was only mentioned here, but Jonathan (Sarah's loverboy from _Wail, Baby, Wail_) will have things to do as well. _

_Cookies and hugs to all my reviewers! I hope you enjoyed reading this, and will enjoy the stories to come!_

_As a sidenote I don't play WoW anymore (right now) and haven't in quite some time.__ None of these characters exist as my player chars either, except I based Sarah on my undead fire mage – and by a stretch, Dor'ash is based on a player I met. Except that orc shaman was utterly incompetent, whiny and kept suddenly hearthing out in the middle of instances (and battles) with just a brief "gotta go" as explanation and warning. So Dor'ash is the anti-thesis of that guy, haha. Rohdjinn is my friend's character though, and there was a brief, anonymous cameo from my sister and her friend's chars. _


End file.
